


Immutable

by Panarchie



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon Magic System ExpandedTM, Character Development, Enemies to Lovers, Ensemble story, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Fuck Templars, M/M, Minor Character(s), Original Character(s), Romance, There Will Be Tropes!, all the drama, fix-it (somewhat), long story, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23055988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panarchie/pseuds/Panarchie
Summary: Three Inquisition recruits - a warrior, a rogue, and a mage - stumble into Skyhold together. They are on the run, they don't know what they're doing, and they fit right in.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Dorian Pavus/Original Male Character(s), Female Amell/Leliana (Dragon Age), Josephine Montilyet/Original Female Character(s), Leliana/Warden (Dragon Age), Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull, Rylen (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	1. A mage, a rogue, and a warrior walk into an ancient fortress

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all, this is the first story I've posted online since my shameless teen years of writing bad slash. Dragon Age is my favorite game series and this story started out in my head when Cullen's character development (or lack thereof) in Inquisition really disappointed me. It's grown since then, and I've used it to take a step away from the main story and just look at the Inquisition itself and its minor characters and building blocks. Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> PS: English is not my native language and I have no beta reader, so keep that in mind.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“How long will it be?”  
“I don't know.”  
“Aren't you supposed to lead the way?”

“I'm a Marcher, Fereldan geography is nothing to me.”

“But you are what the sisters call a _learned child_, aren't you?”

“Learned in setting your ass on fire, yes. How to navigate the Frostbacks, no.”

It was already late and soon, dusk would thrust the forest around them into darkest night. The mountains to the west shimmered in the afternoon haze, their peaks dark and improbable against the setting sun. The uneven ground beneath their boots cracked with frost and would trip anyone who wasn't paying attention to where they were stepping. The Breach grew closer with every day, its eerie green glow drawing her eye every time she looked up.

“We should have taken the Imperial Highway instead of stumbling through the wilderness.”

“You know who else uses that road?”

“Normal people?”  
“Templars, bounty hunters, angry villagers.”

“You mean –”

“People who kill apostates, yes.”

Stia had listened to her companions bicker for hours. Whenever she was about to get annoyed with them, they fell silent, long enough for her to regain her nerves and endure the inevitably returning arguments they had with each other. _Bas_, she thought, the voice in her head like a sigh. _I should have stayed home. I should have stayed with the Arishok_. But such as things were, she was here, and no more out of place than in Par Vollen. Birth, she had come to think, was an inconvenience, not an inevitable prophecy. She was better off without the threat of the Tamassrans looming over her. She didn't trust humans, but if there was no immediate threat in sight, she was alright… _somewhat content, anyhow_.

“Let’s make camp, I’m dead on my feet.”

“We walk, Jasper.”

“Camp.”

“Walk.”

“We should really camp.”

“We can get a few more miles down.”

“Or we could call it a day.”

“There's still light.”

“You think I don't know that you're just making a fuss to keep me moving?”

“I think you know I'll leave you standing there.”

There was a hint of laughter, and Stia looked up to see the humans she was stuck with smirk at each other. She supposed they liked each other well enough, else their fighting would be even more unbearable. Camaraderie, perhaps. She assumed she would learn whether all humans were as loud and brash as those two, the subtleties of their behavior eluding her – if there were any.

“We could go another mile and then make camp,” Stia said into the brief silence, and was suddenly the center of attention. _Blessed silence_. Bright eyes settled on her. The woman who held that gaze hummed her approval. “That is a most reasonable solution,” Yael agreed. Jasper next to her rolled his eyes, one hand coming up to wipe invisible sweat from his forehead, dramatically.

“If you both _insist_,” he exclaimed. He walked past them with a flail of his hands. This penchant for wild gesturing was something else Stia wouldn’t deliberate. She had decided to find a human who explained it all to her, when they reached Haven. Or maybe a nice Tal-Vashoth. _If we get there without getting killed_. Two months had passed since Hunter Fell, where fate threw them together like stray cats, all drawn towards the one novelty that promised both purpose and shelter: the Inquisition. Stia could see the appeal. It wasn’t unlike the _antaam_. Its fold offered to be a place to breathe and observe, to regroup and fight. She couldn't tell for certain when she had decided on that goal, but she was well underway now. Nothing like a Qunari on a mission.

They had overcome some minor inconveniences on their journey, _humans with swords mostly_, but each one seemed to make Yael more anxious to arrive at Haven. “A former Circle member, not a rebel, made apostate with every other mage in Thedas,” she had told Stia in the beginning. The crystal staff she carried painted a rather bright target on her back. Since word had spread that the Inquisition leadership had taken in the mages, others had begun to flock towards its banners. Jasper, who was running from _something_, couldn’t be bothered with haste, which was something Yael called “typically Antivan”. To Stia it seemed like he only complained on principle, and frequently. His skills had been invaluable, helping them stay out of trouble, and if they found it anyhow, getting them out of it again. It made Stia think of Seheron in the worst way possible. She was alright with her sword and the brute force she used to wield it. It tended to prove more useful than lengthy negotiation. She valued that. After her most recent encounter with the Vints, she was eager to reach the Inquisition, or more specifically, a certain mercenary company she knew of.

The additional mile they had agreed on turned into three before Yael could be made to stop walking. It was pitch black, with barely a moon and more clouds than stars. Stia put up their tent while Jasper scouted around their camp site to make sure they wouldn't be surprised by armed humans in the dead of night, and their mage coaxed a lively fire out of three soggy logs. It could have been cozy, had there not been the threat of their past catching up any time. She understood that they all were in trouble one way or another, and although the air of mistrust was slowly waning between them, they hadn't exactly sat down and told each other all their secrets.

Jasper returned from the prowl with a quail hanging from his belt, and while Stia prepared it, Yael did the same with the few potatoes they had left. _We will need to buy supplies tomorrow or go hungry_. Haven couldn't be much further. Maybe they reached it before they had to risk exposing themselves to more people than necessary.

None of them spoke during the meagre dinner, and the weary silence followed them when they squeezed into their shared tent not much later. In their first week together, they had decided that setting watch was unnecessary, since they all had a light sleep to begin with, and no one liked sitting alone in the dark. _Human_s, Stia thought again as she positioned her arm under her head and cast a glance to her left. Jasper clutched his blades in his sleep, snoring softly. Yael was curled up between them, letting out little hums in between breaths. _So soft._

Dawn came silently. Small animals crept through the underbrush. Snow thawing off the tree branches in the sun dripped onto the forest floor. Yael jerked awake when a hare wandered past and the movement rippled in the Fade. Conscious dreaming could be fascinating, adventurous, simple practicality, but sometimes it was like not sleeping at all. For mages, who had to be in control of themselves at all times, it was an inconvenient predicament. Careful not to wake the others, she slipped out of the tent and stretched a bit, drawing deep breaths in the morning air. The blue hour that settled over the world before sunrise was her favorite time of day.

According to the crude map she had snatched from the library just before leaving her tower, Haven was not too far. A day's march at best, if they walked briskly. She couldn't rest until then, the open was too dangerous for her. Unable to settle back down, she began erasing their tracks as best as possible, shoveling dirt over their fire pit and scratching away the wards they had carved into nearby trees. The Inquisition had allied with the mages of Redcliffe, and that made any templar an even greater threat to her. Jasper and Stia were formidable in any fight, but she would like to avoid violence altogether.

“Right, get up, you lot. Time to move.”

From within the tent came a disapproving grunt, not exactly the reaction she had hoped for, but certainly the one she anticipated. She huffed, struggling to keep her voice down lest she drew unwanted attention.

“We are too close to be slacking off now. Up with you two.”

Stia's armored feet that never quite seemed to fit in the tent twitched, and seconds later, the Qunari was regarding her. “You seem eager and energetic.” The giant stood and stomped over to the small stream that ran next to their camp to dip her head into the icy water. Her face was utterly unmoved. “Refreshing. I am ready to go.”

“For the record, I do not understand the urgency,” Jasper moaned from his bedroll before pushing himself up, “But I will comply, because I am a gentleman.” He went on to wolf down his ration of berries and nuts with no trace of elegance. Within a few minutes, they had dismantled their tent and set out on a path towards the south.

Yael lead at an unforgiving pace, and they reached Haven before nightfall.

“It's – gone.”

Destruction was laid out before them, beams of wood and shattered stones stark against the pearly white snow that had buried most of the ruins. The moonlight seemed colder here.

“It's all gone.”

From afar, it had looked like an avalanche decimated the village. When they drew closer, they saw the bodies littering the ground, most of them bloody, burned or grotesquely disfigured. The tip of a trebuchet peeking out from underneath the rubble confirmed the conclusion Stia had drawn at first look. Haven had been attacked, and someone had caused a slide, maybe two. Whether it had been the attack strategy or a desperate act of defense, she couldn’t tell. Either way, it must have been quite terrible.

“That's a templar. Or something wearing a templar breastplate.”

Yael sounded something between repulsed and breathless. Stia turned to examine what had her so irritated. It was indeed a man in armor, but there was a reddish tint to his skin. Blood-colored crystals had begun to sprout from his neck.

“That doesn't look good,” Jasper mumbled. Both his hands rested on the hilts of his twin blades, thumbs grazing the leather wrapping occasionally. The Qunari nodded at him. “Agreed, we should move on.”

“Wait!” Defiance had crept into Yael's voice. “There have to be survivors, there always are.”

A poignant silence settled between them.

“We should at least look around for traces. Someone could need our help.”

No one wanted to say the obvious, that Yael's concern was not for the people of Haven but for herself, and Stia saw Jasper's features soften anyhow. If the Inquisition had been destroyed, their destination wiped off the map, then their journey was at an end and they were all doomed. She sighed inwardly. She honestly wished that as many people as possible had escaped the carnage. It just seemed unlikely that, between enemy forces and the wrath of nature, the Inquisition had survived. The rogue caught her glance and shrugged. “We’re here aren't we?” he said. “Might as well hike around the local bloodbath while we're at it.” He walked off, past the remains of the siege machine, and towards the gentle slope to their right. Yael hurried to follow him after a last look at the red templar, and Stia complied.

It had begun to snow on the mountain and Jasper cursed.

He didn't expect to find anything, besides more dead people, possibly. It was a whim at best. The attackers had come from the east and anyone fleeing the mayhem must have gone deeper into the Frostbacks, where there was ice, wind, and predators. He wouldn't have risked running into enemy stragglers after surviving… this, whatever it had been. _I shouldn't indulge this_. Then, he saw it. For the untrained eye, it wouldn’t have qualified as a pattern. Jasper recognized it as someone dragging themselves through waist-high snow and freshly fallen layers obscuring it.

“This way.”

There were more tracks, and then some. People, carts, the odd Bronto – there had been a timed escape. He was too curious to find out how that was possible to let his fatigue stop him. “Come on!”

Further up, the snowfall became denser, making it hard to see. “Not to be sappy here,” he heard Yael shout over the howling of the wind, “but we should hold onto each other. I don't want to get lost up here.” “Agreed!” He reached behind him and managed to grab her arm, assuming she and Stia did the same. With their path narrowing between sharp cliffs, there was not much space to go wrong, and he felt confident they would get somewhere. _Anywhere_. They trudged on for hours and hours, and soon, even Jasper's keen senses were not enough to pierce through the shroud of whirling snow around them. At some point, they passed an abandoned fireplace, half buried under a blanket of white, and there was a twang of relief, but it didn't last long.

Morning came and went unnoticed. The wind swept them back and forth, blinded and deafened by the blizzard, and still Jasper pushed farther. Yael's skin under his hand didn't cool, and the warmth seeped into him, helping him keep his pace. The weather raged on around them. He did not know how he kept going. And yet they pressed onward, until every step became laden with the weight of a thousand expectations.

“We should camp, sit out the storm,” Stia bellowed at last. “Find shelter.” He was about to answer when the ground before them suddenly dropped. Jasper's couldn't react fast enough. All three of them tumbled down the steep expanse of stone and landed in a snowy heap of limbs.

“I say we stop at the next big rock before we turn into snow moles,” Yael groaned from underneath the Qunari. Stia pushed herself off the ground, snow between her horns. Without the women on top of him, Jasper could take a deep breath, then then point out a boulder larger than their own warrior, sitting a few meters from them. “Here?”

The tent looked meek and tiny next to it, but it would have to do. Inside, Yael warmed the air to the best of her ability. The Frostbacks lived up to their name. The cold was sharp and hungry. There was no comfort to be found in the icy waste, but they were tired, and they lay close to each other, piling all the blankets they had on top of them. It wasn't much. Jasper gave in to his exhaustion and settled into a fitful sleep, hoping against hope that there was something to find when they woke. If they woke.

A few hours later, _something_ found _them_.

Scout Thornton was already having the opposite of a good start to the day. Two steps out of the barracks, a servant splashed him with water on accident. At breakfast, he dropped his bowl of porridge into the mud. During training, he fell on his face, and by the time he reported for duty, his mood was as surly and dry as Orlesian lemon tarts.

It was their third day in Skyhold. He was glad that the snowstorm had subsided by noon. With the sky clearing and the wind calming, he and his scouts could go on their mission without trouble, searching and securing the immediate surroundings of the keep. He collected his men and women, and they headed out. At the end of the bridge, however, they were met with a surprise: at the foot of the outer gate, there was a tent, muddy brown where it peeked through the snow, as tall as a man, possibly military issue.

_Who the fuck camps out here? In the storm, too?_

Flanked by two archers and knife in hand, Thornton drew back the flap and risked a look inside. He inhaled sharply. _Andraste's ass_.

“Get me the Commander, or the Nightingale, or the damned Inquisitor, if need be,” he ordered over his shoulder, “Someone will want to see this.”

Leliana didn't show. In fact, she was nowhere to be found. Cullen came striding down the gateway instead, somewhat flustered from the haste and yet immaculately dressed in full armor. He looked expectantly at Thornton, who was frowning deeply. He was, for all intents and purposes, too old for this shit.

“Whatever is the matter?” Cullen asked eventually.

“A situation of sorts, commander. I wasn't sure what to do.”  
“About what?”

The scout led him towards his find and explained: “There's three people in there. Not dead, I think. We don't know who they are or where they came from, much less if they were even looking to get here in that blizzard.”

“Are they armed?”

“Very much so, sir. But we watched them for half an hour, and they haven't moved.”

Cullen walked towards the tent and pulled the flaps aside. Warmth wafted outside; he could sense ambient magic lingering. He saw the Qunari first, her massive armored form impressive even when she was sleeping. Then, there was a young man with delicate features, sun kissed skin, and a mop of dark hair, clutching two large daggers to his chest. Between them, a woman curled against the horned giant. She was a mage, that much he could feel. Barring that, the lot of them didn't exactly look dangerous, so he cleared his throat and watched the Qunari shoot upright immediately. The rogue stirred lazily.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice level.

“Are you with the Inquisition?” countered she, fingers already curling around the grip of her greatsword. She surveyed the situation calmly, then lowered her hand. “How did you find us?” she asked, eyes trained on Cullen. “Are you set up far from here?”

Thornton, outside, scoffed audibly. “Ye parked yer tent on the outer wall of the new stronghold. Couldn't find the entrance, aye?”

The Qunari successfully stifled a bemused expression, and the rogue finally came to. “Are we there yet?” he mumbled, flopping onto his side. It was then that it occurred to everyone that the mage wasn’t moving.

“She’s cold as ice,” the man said, an unexpected edge to his voice, “we need to get her somewhere warmer.” He looked up at Cullen, who nodded, and then watched as the Qunari scooped her companion up in her arms and crouched out of the small tent.

“Lead the way.”

With the horrible weather gone, the peaks looked beautiful. The sun shone on glaciers glittering in hues of blue, and a gentle breeze carried stray snowflakes past them. Although Jasper had not been happy when he was awoken to find a fully armed warrior at their tent, he was relieved when they broke camp and moved towards the huge, sprawling stronghold. The bridge had been right there, next to them, the whole time. How they had managed to miss it by mere meters baffled him, the blizzard and their long night already forgotten.

Skyhold, as the scout leading them had called it, spread from its enormous courtyard in a maze of overarching bridges, stairs and corner buildings. There were wood constructions supporting walls, heaps of stone and, most of all, people; bustling around, helping each other, dragging about sacks of straw or carrying armfuls of herbs. Injured soldiers and healers alike crowded around a few tents right next to the gate.

“That's the Inquisition, alright,” Jasper blurted out. He shook with relief that they had finally made it, after all the trouble there had been on the road. Since accidentally ruining his entire life in Antiva, there hadn't been much of a choice left for him, either. It was fly or die. _It might be both for Yael_, he thought solemnly, looking at her pale face almost disappearing into Stia’s coat. He could sense the unrest the Qunari emitted, and whatever had replaced Yael's usually calming demeanor with such a vast absence.

“It took us almost three days to get here from Haven after it was destroyed, with all the wounded and the supplies,” the one they called commander said as he led them up the stairs towards the main keep. “How did you find us?”

“Your movements weren't hard to track,” Jasper said, not as proud about it as he would have been, “Bronto trails are easily spotted, even in a storm.”

The main hall was a mess of rubble and red carpet, with a lonely throne residing on a pedestal on the adjacent side of the entrance. The imagery made Jasper gulp, but it was also comforting to see that the organization was still building. Progress was where he could fit in, maybe carve out a place for himself – literally, if must be.

The commander led them through an archway to the left, through another door, and proceeded up another staircase into an elevated corridor. He opened a door for them, and Stia ducked through into a dusty room with a bed and a large, empty fireplace. Even when placed on the mattress a little less than gently, Yael didn’t move.

Her eyes opened to the dim afternoon light. The first thing she saw was a rough stone wall, dancing with the shadows of a fire. Yael took a deep breath. It hurt. Her body felt heavy and unlike her own.

“Sweet Andraste’s mercy, what –” “Easy.”

A big hand came to rest on her upper arm. She blinked into a familiar face, slightly frownier than last she’d seen it. “The healer said to give you this.” Stia handed her a bright blue potion in a vial, and suddenly Yael understood why she felt like she’d been trampled by a snoufleur.

“I drained my mana.” She grasped for the flask, her hand shaking. Her friend’s expression softened, and she moved closer. Yael thumbed the cork off the bottle and downed its contents in one swig. Almost immediately, her head cleared. Strength returned to her weakened frame. She sat up cautiously.

Stia had sunken back into her chair by the hearth. She looked thoughtful. “I never understood _saarebas_ \- mages,” she said after a moment, “The healer said that magic was in your very being. That’s why overexerting yourself almost killed you.” They regarded each other. Yael shrugged. “It was either that or a cold death for all of us.” Stia’s face was unreadable until she simply nodded. Yael was ready to drift back into unconsciousness when the Qunari spoke up again. “Jasper told them that you need to speak to the Inquisitor.”

Freshly bathed and dressed, Yael thought herself almost ready to meet the war council. _War council_. It hadn't occurred to her before that there was another war going on in the world, aside from the old and renewed conflict between mages and templars, but the Inquisition's battle efforts constituted exactly that. Demonic forces were at large. The high and mighty chose to ignore it. The world was not only beholding Maxwell Trevelyan with uneasiness, it expected him to triumph or be devastated. _The chantry could manage to be less helpful, I suppose_. The heavy-set double door loomed. Despite its appearance, it swung open easily enough when given a push. Inside, the room was flooded with afternoon light and a sense of heavy foreboding.

_Andraste, let me kick some ass_.

There was a massive wooden table, and five people congregating around it, two tall, bearded men, the one she assumed to be the commander, and two women, one dressed in fine silks, the other in armor. One of the men stopped talking when she entered.

“You must be our newest illustrious mage,” he stated. His voice was deep and rich, his eyes bright, and his smile contagious.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan, I presume,” Yael greeted, as courteous as she was able to, “I am the first enchanter of the Hasmal circle. I came here to save it and offer the Inquisition its help in return.” Even though she was still sore and tired, she steeled her back. This was what she had come here for.

“What’s your name?” the warrior asked.

“Yael Amell.” 

The mood in the room shifted immediately, shoulders straightened, heads turned. It was as if she had dropped an especially bloody dead body at their feet.

“The champion's mother was an Amell,” the woman said, slowly, casting a careful glance around. _Is that the seeker_? The commander, whose name she had yet to hear, shook his head. “Never mind that, the_ Warden_ was an Amell.”

Everybody was staring at her. Yael sighed in pure and unabridged discomfort.

“The champion,” she announced, “is my cousin. The Warden is my eldest sister.”

The silence couldn't have been more deafening. No one moved, or blinked, or spoke. Instead, the tension seemed to focus on a woman Yael hadn't even noticed before, a redhead in chain mail tucked away in a corner.

“We’ve been looking for both. Do you know where either of them is?” she asked without raising her voice. She didn't have to. Her Orlesian accent was melodic like a nightingale's song and sharp as an assassin's blade. Yael swallowed. “No. I don't. But – you're familiar. Where have we –” And then their eyes met.

“_Denerim_.”

“The _battle_ of Denerim?” the commander intoned, “You can't be older than –”

“I was an apprentice back then, but I accompanied the Hasmal delegation.” It was impossible to look away from Leliana now. She felt dizzy, as if she had been drawn back into a memory distorted by time. “I talked to Hadar before the fight.”

The other woman, whom she now recognized as her sister's lover, walked around the table and came to a halt just a few feet away. Although she didn't back away, Yael would have liked nothing more. She knew that time changed people, but she couldn't find any trace of the sweet bard Hadar had swooned over in Leliana’s appearance.

“If she makes contact, I shall know.”

The mage nodded, irritated now. “We were five before the templars came. I would like to find all of my sisters, if I can.” They stared at each other for a long moment, and Yael knew that she was seeing Hadar. The sisters shared their features – grey eyes, reddish blonde hair, freckles – and there was always something to find for those who looked carefully enough.

The Inquisitor cleared his throat, having exchanged a look with the very bearded man next to him. Leliana slunk back to her place in the shadows.

“Your circle.”

Yael shook her head as if awakening from a trance. “Yes. Hasmal.”

“Well,” the Inquisitor said after a few quiet seconds of mutual observation and appraisal. “What can we do?”


	2. From these emerald waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three friends settle in Skyhold, or try to. A bit of awkwardness here, a bit of drama there, but mostly, a new beginning. As they say - the dawn will come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all, just letting you know that this story will feature expansions of Qunari culture and the magic system of Thedas, because it's so vital to the backstory of some characters that the existing lore wasn't really enough. So get ready to throw canon out the window for this. Translations for Qunlat are at the end of the chapter.

The Inquisition was not what Stia had expected. Humans were, after all, humans. That same thing could be said for elves and dwarves, and together, they were not exactly the height of discipline. Her first impression had been to the contrary. From the leadership to the recruits training in the yard, all she could see was resolve, cold as iron and hardening under each additional strike.

The Iron Bull was not what Stia had expected, either. He was, in fact, not even what she had hoped for. She took one long, hard look at him and knew that he was not a Tal-Vashoth. Seheron had instilled her with enough experience for a lifetime on that.

After indicating her intentions to the ambassador, who had on their second day promptly gathered the three new recruits and delivered them to their designated points of assignment, Stia directed her steps towards the tavern where the leader of the resident mercenary company was to be found. And find him she did. It was hard to miss the enormous Qunari.

“Shanedan,” she greeted. Her fellow Kossith looked taken aback and blinked at her with his good eye for a few seconds before leaning forward in his chair as if to get a better look at her.

“There's a word I haven't heard in a long time.”

“Tal-Vashoth would have no use for Qunlat or company to speak it in,” she said. He raised his hand as if to make a gesture, then curled his fingers and brought it to his chin in a rather pensive manner. “Yeah, that's where I think you have been misinformed.” Stia cocked her head, though she didn't say anything. “I'm not actually Tal-Vashoth. I'm Hissrad, on mission for the Ben-Hassrath.”

She stepped back. Tal-Vashoth or Qunari, she could handle. The Ben-Hassrath would have her head for what she had done.

“Sorry, I thought everyone important around here knew that already.”

“That you are not Tal-Vashoth is apparent. But how can you be spying on the Inquisition if _everyone_ knows?”

He shrugged. “It is a mutually beneficial agreement, and the Inquisitor is not my enemy.”

“You operate a fully functional mercenary company,” she observed. Hissrad nodded. “I want to join.”

“You are dressed in Qunari armor, you carry your _Asala_, you speak like any _Karasten_ I've known – why do you want do get down and dirty with mercenaries?”

Stia scoffed. “You are Hissrad yet talk like a _bas_.”

“I won't drag you back to Par Vollen when this is done, don’t worry. But I get the feeling we should have a bit of a sit-down first.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I failed a diplomatic mission and then lost my regiment on the border to Tevinter. Two missteps are two too many. I would be re-educated upon my return, and I did not wish to give up my position in the Antaam. It is my purpose.”

“I see.” He paused. “Come and meet the Chargers!”

If Stia hadn't known better, by way of seeing, she would have pegged Hissrad for a human. He was loud, outgoing, quick with mediocre jokes and then almost always met with varying degrees of exasperation. The bas he surrounded himself with were universally calmer and more restrained. It was most curious, and she found sitting with them quite comfortable.

“So,” Hissrad's right hand warrior drawled, vowels slurring, “You're the first real Qunari we meet.”

“Hissrad is Qunari.”

“But your experience is more _recent_ than his.”

Stia fixed the man named Krem with a look. “The Qun is not forgotten.”

To her great surprise, the group burst out laughing, even the elves. Hissrad was by far the loudest.

“Didn't I tell you?” he snickered, slapping his thigh, “One of the few Qunari with a sense of humour I knew was the last Arishok.”

“What, the one who sacked Kirkwall?” Krem stared, wide-eyed, his mug of ale halfway to his mouth. “Tried to, anyways. The champion –”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know the story,” Hissrad interrupted impatiently, “Fereldans are a pain.”

“Technically, she's a Marcher,” the lieutenant countered.

“Aw, aren't you well-informed?” The Chargers guffawed and Krem turned a dark shade of red. “Our little Krempuff has a crush on Hawke.”

A sing song of “Krem and the champion sitting in a tree” erupted from the group (“K-I-S-S-I-N-G”), carrying through the tavern at an unforgiving volume. Stia allowed herself a smile and felt Hissrad's eyes on her. When she looked up, he returned the gesture with a nod.

A few hours later, things had calmed down enough for Stia to nurse a drink in peace. It didn't last for long, though, because Hissrad fell into a chair across the table from her. There was a minute of intense eye contact before he broke the silence between them.

“I had a few more questions.”

“I am hardly surprised.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound.

“You are _Aqun-Athlok_.”

“I am not. I am neither.”

“Veering towards female.”

She glared at him this time. The humans hadn't asked intrusive questions, and they understood less than he did. Hissrad noticed her mood and inclined his head, the unfulfilled gesture of respect and acceptance. With a start, she realized that she would never exchange it with someone she valued again.

“Your name,” he said.

She had to take another swig of ale before she could answer. “It means nothing, like me.”

“That’s a dark notion.”

“_Asit tal-eb_, I am not Qunari anymore, but I am not yet Tal-Vashot.” _Not after Tevinter_. Her grip around her wooden mug tightened at the memory. Her misjudgement had led two dozen Qunari to a senseless death without honour. “The burden of my failure. I carry it with me until I can come up with a way to make amends.”

“_Karastenkost. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun_.” Hissrad's voice was surprisingly soft. It was only then that she noticed there were tears in her eyes.

“But I am not Karasten anymore.” Stia shook her head with a sad half smile. “I should have sent my _Ashaad_ before leading the assault. Why didn't I?”

“Because you didn't.”

“I –”

“_Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun._“

“You don't have to quote the Qun at me.”

“But perhaps remind you of it.”

Talking about it was too much for her to bear. She rose from the bench she had been sitting on and made straight towards the tavern door. There was no wisdom in the Qun to quench her guilt or ease the pain, and why would there be? As a Qunari, one endured. Whatever she felt, she deserved it.

She didn't look back but heard Hissrad calling after her. “_Panahedan_, Stia.”

Jasper settled in rather quickly, to his own surprise. He came to that conclusion when he found himself sitting cross legged on a wall overlooking the garden, watching Chantry sisters mingle with mages, the occasional Orlesian and a few elves. The Inquisition was a melting pot.

Granted, he had been given his own room above the throne hall, new armour, and a sarcastic dwarf to pester with questions, who was helpful when he wasn’t lying. He hadn't expected it to feel this right, though. He had travelled Antiva, Rivain and Nevarra, but never left his comfort zone. A finger on the pulse of a city, with all its chaos and dust, and throwing himself headfirst into every new, hot day. That was how he had spent much of his youth. It was much more alluring than conforming to the life of a merchant, no matter what his parents thought best for him, and no matter how influential or rich it could make him. This chapter had been written, the ink dried, the pages turned.

He wouldn't fret, he rarely ever did. There was much to explore, after all, and for a rogue like him, Skyhold with all its bustling and slow disarray was a large, unguarded play pen. _Plenty of things to steal_. He had, however, learned to steer clear of the rookery. An angry redhead in chain mail had glared him off the rafters the last time he’d been there, yelling at him to leave her birds alone. He had been told that the spymaster enjoyed her peace and quiet, and he would certainly give her a wide berth in the future.

Between wandering and Varric putting all sorts of ideas into his already busy head (“Do you think the Inquisitor could use a personal honour guard?”), it was good to breathe without looking over his shoulder. He had upset many people back home. Life had been dangerous. Jasper smiled to himself. It would be too risky for any of his pursuers to find and kill him here. He had played his cards right, and now the afternoon sun was shining on his face, warming his skin and tickling his nose.

With a sigh, he hopped off the wall and stretched. He knew that Varric would probably still be buried in his paperwork, and there was not much he could learn from the rogues among the Inquisition. _I could go prod Stia with a dagger_, he mused,_ could kill me, though_. When nothing else came to mind, he wandered off on a whim, headed for the door leading to the walkway above the throne room and the hallways around the library. Last time he had been in the tower he'd ignored the dusty stacks of books in favour of the birdcages that swung precariously one story higher. The library would be as boring as he remembered it, or so he had thought when he pushed the door open. The narrow windows allowed a surprising amount of light, and for a moment, he was dazzled by the brightness. He stood there, dumbfounded, blinking furiously against the sun.

“Blinded by my radiant beauty, I suppose?” a melodic voice intoned. Jasper froze. It occurred to him that he stood rooted in the light, like an idiot, and stepped aside. He turned towards the stranger to distract himself from his momentary embarrassment. A blush rose to his face in a flurry of heat that made him severely uncomfortable. Jasper swallowed.

Before him stood the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. Sure, Antiva had a good many beautiful specimens, but no one measured up to the tall, tan, smirking, _delicious_ human in front of him. Jasper licked his lips unconsciously. He felt hot, very very hot. The man’s tight-fitting leather outfit wasn’t helping at all. It looked complicated with its multiple belts, jewels and bright metal clasps, leaving bare a shoulder and part of the chest. His popped collar was in perfect harmony with the casual elegance he exuded.

“I seem to have left you speechless as well,” he said, his tone chipper and prominently self-satisfied. Jasper shook his head slightly.

“For a moment,” he said in response, still unsure about this unique appearance. At least the other man was speaking common. “In my defence, I am usually faster on the uptake.”

“I should hope so.” They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Jasper was very aware that he had nowhere to put his hands, and that he might be grimacing instead of smiling. _Maker_, this was too much for his poor nerves.

“But, ah, where are my manners?” The stranger chuckled and bowed at the hip. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” And with that swift rumble of beautiful vowels and everything in between, Dorian had done Jasper in. It took him about a minute to regain his bearings. Being flustered and overwhelmed at the same time was very inconvenient, he realized. The fact that his new acquaintance was of Tevinter, a mage, and that this should probably elicit a reaction from him, brushed his mind. He shrugged it off.

“Jasper Pala, merchant's son turned mercenary,” he let his tongue linger on that last syllable, imitating the other man's way of introduction, “connoisseur of arts and runaway.” Dorian's eyebrow perked in interest at that.

“That sounds like a story I would like to hear!”

Jasper vaguely gestured to one of the tables nestled against the round walls, claiming the open spaces free of books or shelves. The Vint nodded and led the way, even going so far as to pull a chair out for the rogue, who had no idea how to handle that.

_You've been here for what, five minutes? And are already hot for some dude from Tevinter. Well fucking done, you idiot_.

Although easily flustered, Jasper's body language would never betray the extent of his thoughts. It was an integral part of being a hired sword – _having been a hired sword_, he reminded himself – and imperative to survival. He had, of course, managed to mess that up anyhow.

“Alas.” The mage regarded him, hands folded beneath his chin, a curios glint in his eyes. “Do tell. You are Antivan, no?”

Jasper nodded, then sighed. “I am. But that's not as exciting as it might sound.”

Dorian just kept giving him that _look_, a hint of a smirk playing about his lips. It did wondrous things to the imagination, and he felt his cheeks burn with a familiar intensity. He threw up his arms in a mock display of defeat, then cleared his throat to begin his story.

“You would know that the merchant princes are quite the force to be reckoned with.” An affirmative nod. “Well, my father is one of the twelve. I’m an only child and my cousins are still young, so he wanted to groom me for the trade as well.”

“And it was not for you.” A statement, not a question. Jasper chuckled.

“No, no, it really wasn't.” He stared at the smooth patterned surface of the table between them for a moment. _Too dull for mahogany, too dark for birch. Oak, maybe? Do those even grow in the Frostbacks_? To keep his focus, he peered up at the Vint sitting across from him again. Temptation was written in every laugh line, too overt not to explore. “There are other things I enjoy in life than haggling at the market and threatening subordinates.”

He noticed the tension that had dug itself into Dorian's smooth and guarded features. “What _do_ you enjoy in life, then?” he asked. “It can’t be the bitter wines of Antiva.” For a second, that baseless insinuation alone knocked the breath out of Jasper, but then he flashed a smile.

“Art, a _good_ Antivan vintage and the company of handsome men.” To his surprise, Dorian started to laugh. It was a most captivating experience, the way his toned shoulders shook, and his eyes lit up even more. Jasper's heart leaped in his chest. He had not expected to find such a wild journey of emotions in the library. Like a true Antivan, he was already halfway in love with this gorgeous being.

“A man of some taste, I see.”

Conversation came to him easier, then, and before long, Jasper had recounted what brought him to Ferelden. Remembering how he had spent long days in Seleny, studying art with tutors and companions, creating little masterworks himself when the wind stirred him towards it, taking walks on the river promenade in the evenings. Even guarding a noble's estate with a group of other young sell-swords was a fond memory – until the night when he had mistaken the woman for a shadow creeping in the dark. The deed had followed him for many leagues, his pursuers relentless enough for him to suspect prior enemies. He knew that Seleny would one day catch up to him.

Dorian listened to all of this with a kept attentiveness, hummed and laughed and grimaced in all the right places. There had been a thoughtful silence for a few minutes, and he found it rather comfortable.

“It seems,” the Vint said eventually, “that you came to the right place.” Jasper inclined his head, prompting a more dramatic gesture. “Once we are done saving the world, the Inquisition will be a most shiny lot of heroes. The Inquisitor himself and his inner circle most importantly, of course.”

“Would make enough people stay their hand, but not an Antivan and not when it comes to matters of the heart.” Jasper's hand came up to tousle his hair. “There was an innocent involved. Worse, an innocent _aristocrat_.”

“No noble is ever really innocent,” Dorian quipped. He had one arm draped over the back of his chair, his voiced disdain reflected perfectly in his posture. “Power does not allow you the freedom of innocence. I know this must weigh on your conscience, but were she a commoner, no one would care to threaten you, and that should tell you everything there is to know about the people that want you dead.”

“I... suppose?” Jasper sighed. “Might be that my father has dealt with the situation when this is over. I miss Antiva, dusty and frivolous as it is.”

“Oh, my dear boy. You haven't seen Tevinter.”

The balcony became Yael's favourite place the moment she had laid eyes on it, and immediately resolved to use every excuse to spend time there – with the blessing of her newest best friend. _Iron lady_, the Orlesians called her. Despite that and other things being said about her, Vivienne had been warm and welcoming when Yael had been dropped off at her domain. Every mage in Thedas had an opinion on the court enchanter, be it admiration or revulsion. To Yael, she had always been an enigma. She had just figured out how to introduce herself when the other woman rose to stand at full height, dark eyes casting a level look, posture oozing power. Majestic, magnificent, and everything Yael had hoped for.

After a few introductory pleasantries, they sat in silence long enough for Yael to steal a glance out of the balcony door. Heights always made her feel elated, like a taste of true freedom. Even though she had lived nearly twenty years in a circle tower, the view above the throne room took her breath away. There was something humbling about the perfect, sun-painted clouds on a deep blue canvas, while the birds circling overhead were mere specks of black. Below was the courtyard and all the soldiers training in it. Yael expected Vivienne to notice her enrapturement, but no remark had been made.

“Certainly, you are aware that I requested to speak to you today,” she said at length.

“I am,” Yael answered, her voice sounding calmer than she felt, “From one first enchanter to the other, I suppose.” Curiosity flitted over those fine features, quick as a shadow.

“The last first enchanters in the realm.”

The women exchanged a look. Vivienne nodded for the younger mage to speak. 

“I came here for my circle.” Yael leaned forward and folded her hands on her knees. “After the White Spire, our first enchanter and most of the senior mages joined the rebels. Five templars left to follow the Lord Seeker, so, compared to other circles, we remained relatively intact.” There was a hum of agreement. “Then, the conclave. When news of the Divine’s death reached us, the people of Hasmal all but burned our tower down. They are at the gates every day, mobbing the doors and demanding that the templars do _justice_.” She let out an audible breath. “Not much stands between the mages and death. But my Knight-Commander wouldn't listen to me when I said we should petition the Inquisition for help.”

Vivienne inclined her head in what could have been a nod.

“As first enchanter, it is my duty to guide and protect my circle,” Yael finished quietly.

Vivienne flashed her a smile that was all teeth. “I imagine you slipped out in the middle of the night.” _Great, she knows_. Yael had told the Inquisitor that her Knight-Commander had allowed her to leave, but that wasn’t at all true. There was a lot about her story that wasn’t _entirely_ as she liked to tell it.

“It is my right to permit leave from the tower.” She shrugged unapologetically. “Even for myself. And I did what needed to be done. The templars were risking the entire circle.”

“I don’t disagree.”

The tension had seeped out of Yael's shoulders. There was no mage in all Thedas, except for Fiona and the Warden, maybe, who wielded power in a way comparable to Vivienne. She had no reason to be afraid of her because Yael needed her as an ally, and they both knew it.

“We shouldn’t sit idly about this. Has the Inquisitor spoken about this already?”

“I have, actually. I was told he would decide today.”

The women shared an innocuous smile, and Yael had a feeling that they were going to be the best of frenemies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shanedan: greeting, literally: “I will hear you.”
> 
> Asala: Weapons of the Qunari soldiers, literally: “soul”
> 
> Karasten: military rank, infantry commander
> 
> Bas: term for non-Qunari, literally: “thing”
> 
> Antaam: the Qunari army
> 
> Aqun-Athlok: one who is "born as one gender but lives like another."
> 
> Asit tal-eb: core principle of the Qun, literally: “it is to be” or “the way things are meant to be”
> 
> Karastenkost. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun.: “Peace, Karasten. There is no struggle. Victory is in the Qun.”
> 
> Ashaad: military rank, scout
> 
> Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun.: “The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.”
> 
> Panahedan: Goodbye, literally: “take refuge in safety”


	3. The answered call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first taste of battle might not always be the sweetest. There's a lot of weird stuff lurking in the woods - rogue mages, red templars, mystery guys with war hammers and possibly even Orlesians, which is totally the last thing we need in this house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all, welcome to another chapter. I have a few lined up, so I'll be posting them over the next weeks. Enjoy!  
Translation for Qunlat at the end of the chapter, as usual.

The battlements were always busy, and very popular. It was the fastest way across the courtyards and in between buildings. Incessant gusts of wind made eavesdropping almost impossible, allowing the ramparts to become the second greatest source of gossip, only bested by the throne room. Then, there was the view, the frozen world around Skyhold shining in hues of blue, white and, at night, silver. Some of the Fereldan recruits even claimed that you could see until Lake Calenhad on clear days.

Stia had transformed her retreat above the smithy into a place of comfort. At first it had only been a sack of straw crammed into some corner right under the roof, and the nights had been anxious and fitful. She had bound the makeshift mattress together with her bedroll for convenience and found some fragrant herbs to dry over her alcove. It didn't smell like home, but it was better than wet wood and snow. The heavy air of Par Vollen was the very opposite of the crispness of the mountain climate, which added to her unease. Yael had brought her a thick woollen blanket, and with the heat from the forges below, Stia was warm and content, even throughout the icy storms.

She was circling the yard with Hissrad at her side, watching with thinly veiled amusement as Krem tore into a fair-haired recruit. The hours around noon were ideal for training bouts. It was as warm as it would get, and everyone tended to be in high spirits just before their midday meal.

“He is good with that hammer,” Stia remarked. She could smell excitement and a certain tinge of insecurity that only men ever exuded.

Hissrad snorted. “You should see him in a real fight. Nothin' like thumping the other guy on the head with a giant metal club, right?” She acknowledged that with a slight nod.

A cheer rose from the surrounding soldiers when Krem knocked his opponent off his feet and into the dust. The Vint displayed a broad grin to the crowd and bowed at the hip, then picked the youngling up from the ground before strutting away, possibly to tend to his own wounds.

Out of the corner of her eye, Stia watched her fellow Kossith regard the makeshift arena that now stood empty. She knew what he was about to say before he said it, prompting her to smile. No matter how far away from her former home she was, the Qun was always with her – and with Hissrad, whether he accepted it or not.

“Wanna have a go, greenhorn?”

“You're on.”

“Hah! That's what I like to hear!”

Krem patted her shoulder when she walked past him into the ring and said something that sounded suspiciously like “kick his ass for me”. She toed off her armoured boots and shrugged out of her mail, dropping both outside the wooden enclosure. Without the heavy metal gear to confine her, she would be able to move more freely. The sparring area wasn't more than seven meters in every direction and felt small with two Kossith in it. They wouldn't use weapons, not under these circumstances. Besides, the Inquisitor would not approve if they tore each other apart.

Within seconds, their entering the arena had attracted a small crowd. Even with the Iron Bull in their ranks, they had probably never seen two Qunari go toe to toe in direct combat without anything else to occupy their attention. Stia elected to ignore them. She rolled her shoulders back, straightening and stretching at the same time. It was enough to melt the stiffness of the day's inactivity off her muscles, filling her with the familiar anticipatory energy of battle. Hissrad was across the expanse of hard-packed dirt, a grin on his face, going through the very same motions.

“Are you ready?”

“Are _you_?”

They beheld each other for another long moment before Stia nodded. He jumped towards her without hesitation, trying to knock her off balance early on, but she had expected him to do exactly that and ground her heels into the earth to stem the attack. Their shoulders connected, but neither broke stance. She pushed against him more insistently, probing for resistance, and then, out of her standing position, swung. Her fist crashed against his jaw. He reeled from that first hit, and every consecutive punch had him on the fall back. Each one rang in her bones, exploding in force against her knuckles. She turned and brought her extended leg down against his torso, but missed by a few inches, enough to throw her off. His hand closed around her forearm and he spun her around, using her own momentum to smack her against one of the wooden poles fencing in the arena.

The impact shook her to the core. For a second, she was just breathing, feeling blood trickle from her nose. Her eyes were clear, though, meaning Hissrad hadn't done any real damage. Soldiers around the ring recoiled and gasped at her expression, but her world had narrowed down to a single objective and she had no time to register them. The overwhelming stench of copper and salt filled her senses. She whipped around faster than necessary to find her opponent at a distance from her once more. He stepped sideways, and she mimicked it. Qunari weren't fast and nimble like elves or some humans, and every collision took a toll on the heavily muscled warriors. Stia outranked him, but barely. There was no easy opening to be found with someone as experienced as him, and fronting was too risky against a giant of his build.

“You wanna dance instead of fighting?” Hissrad called. Krem could be heard laughing from further off. She didn't dignify it with a response, instead lowered her head and sneered. It was an aggressive gesture, one he understood.

They clashed in the middle of the ring this time, unwilling to give the other one an inch of reprieve. Stia unceremoniously kneed him in the abdomen, then struck an uppercut that sent him staggering. She took a running start and charged at him, catching him right around the middle. The ground shook as they both went down, but Hissrad took the blunt of the blow. Stia was quick to regain her footing and hovered over him, waiting. The sun seemed hotter now. A fine sheen of sweat covered her arms and face.

Hissrad gave her a long look before nodding. He accepted defeat. She extended her hand and helped him up. They bumped their foreheads, a gesture of respect, and he said: “The ambassador is watching, you better hope she won't be when I make you look real old next time.”

“_Ataash varin kata_, Hissrad.”

“Of course, you would say that. _Maraas kata, vashedan_!”

After their little bout, Stia turned her back on the main steps, intent on not noticing the ambassador in her bright and soft splendour, if she was even there. It would make her susceptible to mockery, and she had had enough of Hissrad and his chargers for one day, even though she was initiated officially just a week ago. That would at least give her a perspective for the time after the Inquisition, provided they succeeded and there was a world with perspectives to have.

She found the nearest barrel and splashed some of the collected rainwater on her face. Although she was used to more extreme temperatures, the relief was welcome. Even without her armour, the fight had been strenuous. And she was not ready to believe that Hissrad allowed her the upper hand. She had been Karasten, and one was not made such for lack of skill.

Just when she had decided to have a go at the training dummies, a nervous page approached her. He stared at her horns for a full minute while she waited for him to speak.

“What is it?”

He gave a nervous squeal, then nodded hastily. “Stia Adaar? The Inquisitor bid you come to the war room at once.”

The Qunari raised an eyebrow at that. She was tempted to ask for more information but decided against it. The leadership would inform her if necessary, and she would be content. Swas only a soldier now, and such was the way of an army.

“Hey, you.” She tossed the human a coin. “I have a charge for you. If you value your life, don’t tell anyone who put you up to it.”

“Mages are dangerous, simple enough.”

Until this very moment, Yael had been enjoying a lovely morning, tucked away in a quiet corner of the garden with a book on entropy. It was nice to read in peace again, with the murmur of the chantry sisters and elf herbalists or the whispering wind in the trees providing agreeable white noise. That was until a door slammed shut and Leliana and the commander had appeared, both seeming on edge, retreating to the covered passages surrounding the quad. At first, they talked quietly among themselves, but their voices grew louder by the minute, making it exceedingly hard for Yael to ignore them.

“You are a templar, of course you say that.” Leliana sounded downright offended.

“I speak from experience, and I am not travelling to the Hinterlands with three untested mages. The Vint is untrustworthy and the other two are an administrative nightmare.”

“Aren’t you the Cullen Rutherford who was at Kinloch Hold when the Warden saved the circle from Uldred?” Yael said from where she sat, without having to raise her voice. She closed her book, put it aside, and got to her feet. She felt a familiar anger rise, nestling in her throat where it threatened to choke her if not let out. _Don’t fight with templars. Don’t make them hurt you_. The look on Rutherford's face was disconcertingly irritated, while Leliana was fighting down a whole other expression.

“The same Cullen Rutherford who wanted the saved circle to be slaughtered, nonetheless? Who allowed Knight-Commander Meredith and her disciples to abuse and kill mages as they pleased, and only stood against her when it served his own agenda? Every mage in the Free Marches knows your name.” The worlds tumbled out of her mouth unbidden. Her voice was dripping venom. Rutherford had started turning bright red. She shrugged his anger off. “The Inquisition must seem dull by comparison, with all the templars stripped of rank and dominion over mages.”

The commander stared at her with an expression that was hard to decipher. Anger, maybe surprise. He couldn’t know that he had pushed her past her breaking point, but he had. For months, she had persevered; she had mediated discussions when they turned into conflict, she had kept the peace and she had upheld doctrine in her circle even when they had been abandoned. Now she was free, and she was done playing nice. She had not refused to rebel and then travelled through half of Thedas to save her circle only to see old patterns reappearing, repeated in the one organisation that had the power to change it all. _You are just another templar_.

“I won't be lectured by you.” His voice was high pitched, his tone indignant. “Who do you think you are?”

“The first enchanter of Hasmal, actually.”

He wasn't handling her interference very well, and when no help was forthcoming from Leliana, he turned on his heel and left the garden through the door he had entered. The women looked after him for a moment before the older one sighed. “I do not know if you are doing yourself a favour by antagonizing him. He outranks you, too.”

“Anyone else with his record and his attitude towards all mages, a third of the Inquisition's standing army that is, would not have been made commander,” Yael scoffed, feeling oddly confident, “First Kinloch Hold, then Kirkwall. It won’t be Skyhold, too.”

“How do you know all that?” Leliana asked, frowning. The mage mumbled something about 'yes, all templars' before answering: “As I said, Rutherford is somewhat of a horror story among mages who lived through the Blight. Meredith died and Greagoir retired, but Rutherford is still a templar on the loose.” She lowered her voice to a half-whisper, prompting Leliana to step closer. “And Hadar – she told me to keep my head down, to stay out of Ferelden. It was like she knew something was going to happen, even back then. He was one of her keepers, and I know she didn’t think kindly of any of them.” There was a pause and Yael grinned at the memory. She had kept her sister’s letters secret and safe throughout the years, one of her most prized possessions.

“Hadar never liked him very much,” Leliana agreed.

“It seems like Hawke didn’t either. That scar on his lip?”

“What do you mean?”

Yael raised her hands in a defensive gesture. “Speculation on my part. But I've read Varric's book, and he frequently mentions the armoured glove Hawke wore on her right hand.”

Leliana shook her head. “She did when I came to Kirkwall. Unbelievable.”

“So, what was that about three mages travelling to the Hinterlands?”

The library was empty on warm days, or whatever passed for warm in the mountains. It was certainly nothing compared to Antiva's climate, which was at times oppressively hot, even for Jasper's taste, but still more comfortable than the frozen wasteland that was Ferelden. One of the few good things he had found in the country of wet dogs and strange accents sat in a plush armchair near one of the slanted windows and was picking through a stack of books with caustic enthusiasm. There had been a new shipment from some ancient book shop in Orlais, and for the first time, Dorian had found something he approved of.

“I wouldn't call it tasteful, exactly,” he said, turning up his nose at another chronicle of some long-dead Divine, “certainly an improvement to before, though.”

Jasper, who cared nothing for books, nodded appreciatively. The men had been spending time together, fuelling rumours from the kitchens to the barracks, and with every passing day, he grew more infatuated with the Vint. It was probably stupid and unrequited, but he couldn't help it, because it came to him so easily. Dorian wasn't only gorgeous and witty and all kinds of clever, he was also _fun_, and they seemed to have an unspoken mutual understanding of the world. It was unlike everything he had ever experienced. He couldn't say if he would have approached Dorian as freely if they weren't both part of the Inquisition. _Technically, he spoke to me first._

“What do you think?”

Dorian held up a small, worn out book bound in black leather. Jasper squinted at the faded silver letters on the cover. “_Adventures of the Black Fox_,” he read, then shook his head. “Never heard of that, to be honest.”

“_What_?” The mage sounded absolutely scandalized, and looked it, too. “Every child in Thedas should know his story! Every rogue should aspire to _be_ him!”

He shrugged, holding back a smile. “I guess my parents disagree, or else I would know about him.” Dorian's excitement tended to be contagious, his cheery disposition something Jasper found conflicting due to his own near constant annoyance with his surroundings.

“That is shameful neglect on the part of your peers,” the other man proclaimed, then patted the cushioned space next to him. “Sit, and I will tell you.”

Suddenly, Jasper felt both very confined in his chair and unable to move. He would not be able to focus on the story if his leg was pressed against Dorian's, or on anything else. “Maybe I should just… stay here,” he suggested half-heartedly.

“Nonsense! Come here already. I think there's even pictures in the book.”

Unwilling to argue, and knowing that it was pointless anyhow, Jasper moved next to Dorian and slowly sank into the armchair. There was enough space for both to sit comfortably, but their knees were touching, and he was very aware of it. His face felt very warm. He was grateful that Dorian seemed preoccupied with his reading for the moment. Then, he cleared his throat.

“Once upon a time, the lord of Val Chevin was a tyrannical yet powerful man who ruled unopposed. He forced the citizens to provide for his lavish and ridiculous lifestyle while they themselves were starving. The guards were cruel and violent, and imperative for keeping the lord in power.”

Dorian's voice carried impressions like the autumn wind did leaves. It was too easy to get lost in it, to let yourself be swept away. The very moment Jasper could feel himself let go of his reservations, someone said “Aren't you two adorable”, and laughed.

The rogue looked up to see Varric standing before them, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I'm sorry to be interrupting, but Firefly has called for a war council,” the dwarf announced, “now.”

“Both of us?”

“Both of you.”

They rose together, and their hands touched. Dorian didn't pull his away.

“It’s time that we returned to the field.”

It was uncomfortable, to say the least. The war room, which was not meant to hold more than a few very important personalities, was packed, and its usually intimidating effect had waned once the last person to enter had closed the door behind them.

Twelve people crowded around the massive wooden table, the Trevelyans, Josephine, Leliana, Cullen and Cassandra on one side, the inner circle on the other. Varric had pushed his way to the front, Yael and the commander glowered at each other from opposite corners, Solas tried to stay out of everyone's way by leaning against the far wall and Stia, Jasper and Dorian were squished against each other in the centre.

The Inquisitor cleared his throat and became the focus of everyone's uneasy attention. He blushed. “I have convened with my advisers, and we have decided that the Hinterlands would be a good place to start up again.” He nodded at his brother before continuing. “We have to show the world that we are still alive and kicking. It should be calmer there now, after we recruited the mages, but since we know that the remaining templars have joined Corypheus, it might be a good idea to show presence.”

“Agreed,” Dorian and Yael said simultaneously. Solas gave a long-suffering sigh that went largely ignored.

“I have chosen you as participants for the mission because you are a good mix of newer recruits and more experienced fighters. And our very own commander, none the less.”

“We must contain the threat posed by those corrupted templars,” Cullen said.

“Takes one to know one, I guess,” Yael commented in a loud whisper. Someone snorted. There was a unanimous groan from the leadership, except Leliana, before Maxwell went on without acknowledging the exchange.

“We ride the day after tomorrow at sunrise. Get your gear ready, stack some potions, but pack lightly, we shouldn't be having too much trouble.”

Trouble, however, was all they had.

It started when the commander brought three extra templars in full armour to the stables and hadn't ended when everyone realized with a start that a regular Fereldan courser was an ill-suited mount for a dwarf. Multiple people suggested ditching the horses altogether, most vocally Jasper and Yael, bringing Cassandra to the verge of screaming. At some point, Maxwell managed to remember that he was supposed to lead them, and successfully called his companions to order. They left Skyhold two hours after dawn and followed a steep, treacherous mountain path for most of the morning. After the excitement of being seen off by an Inquisition honour guard had died down and the rocks and glaciers slowly gave way to equally uneventful trees and brush, Jasper found himself very bored. He had expected as much.

Although the day promised to be bright and sunny, the ground was cold and frozen. A chill permeated the air. Jasper was wearing a thick woollen cloak clasped at the throat over his rogue armour, which wouldn't provide much warmth on its own, something he was not ready to miss even more while they were still in the heart of the mountains. With a smile, he noticed that Dorian kept next to him, bantering with Varric over the technicalities of naming objects and especially weapons. Although they were all supposed to be a well-oiled machine, everyone fell back into their little groups as soon as they could. He himself was no different; when he wasn't following Dorian around the stronghold, he enjoyed annoying Stia and Yael. There was a lot to be said about fleeing for ones' lives together, and one of those things was that it brought people closer. Figuratively, even, because they had only had one tent. Others he avoided altogether, in part because of advice he had received, but mostly because he had a very keen instinct when it came to people.

“What are you thinking about?”

Jasper looked up to see Dorian batting his lashes at him, and almost laughed out loud.

“Right now, I'm considering how ridiculous you look when you do that.”

“Wrong, I look ridiculously handsome when I do that. Even more than usual!”

They fell into an amicable silence as they rode next to each other. Not for the first time Jasper thought about how this would all play out, with him and that strange, gorgeous, insufferable man. Granted, it had only been a few weeks since their meeting, but he had never been that attracted to another person. It was almost rude, the way Dorian kept flirting with him despite knowing full well what effect that tended to have on him. Not that he would ever want him to stop, though.

“Is there an itinerary to this excursion?” Jasper grimaced. “I've been wondering.”

Dorian only shrugged, as he was in the middle of scrutinizing his fingernails. “Oh, I'm quite convinced that someone will manage to bring the Chantry into all this. I hear we'll stop in Redcliffe, that'll be opportunity enough for our more pious friends. A little gushing about the inherent evil that is mages, I imagine.” He scoffed. “All in a day's work for our seeker and commander.” Jasper gave him a sideways glance that didn't go unnoticed. “The brother surprised me; I must say. Dale, wasn't it?” The rogue nodded, although it wouldn't have been necessary. Dorian was already monologuing freely. “Very collected for a templar and does not seem to have a stick up his rear. Good manners, too. It's not something you expect to see, especially from a Marcher.”

“Watch it, Sparkler!” Varric called.

“Anyhow,” Dorian went on as if uninterrupted, “you need to work on that posture.”

“Huh?” Jasper inadvertently sat up straighter, frowning. “My posture is fine.”

“Not your _posture_. _That_ posture!”

“I honestly don't know what you mean.”

Dorian pulled on the reigns and brought his mare closer. “You need to move with the horse, not against it. Feel the rhythm and go with it.” “Are... we still talking about riding?” The Antivan cocked an eyebrow at his companion, fighting down a smile. “Horseback riding, that is?”

He did not get an answer; the mage just laughed.

Redcliffe had been devastated by the blight and most recently ravaged by the endless fighting between mages and templars, or so she had been told. She didn’t keep up with human politics if she didn’t have to. Considering all that, the town was in good shape. Tidy little houses with small gardens and low stone walls between them lined the road, people went about their day's work and merchants cried their wares from wooden shacks. Lake Calenhad glistened in the midday sun, a dozen boats swaying on its waves. It was a peaceful setting, serene and beautiful in its simplicity, and yet, Stia could hear the murmurs very clearly. She inadvertently exchanged a look with Solas, whose senses were as superior to the human's as hers.

“The Inquisition again.”

“I thought they took all the rebels with them already.”

“Is that a Qunari?”

“They'll have a hard time talking with the Arl if that's what they want.”

“Maybe they're recruiting.”

“Look, it's Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Three mages and five templars. That can't be good.”

_Humans_, she thought. The Inquisitor had rid them of the rebel mages, a magister with sinister intentions, and the fighting on and around their lands, but there was no gratitude to be found among them. They were perhaps even more suspicious than before. _Bas ebadim qalaba_.

Maxwell stopped, looked around, and dismounted, prompting the others to do the same. He said something to Cassandra that Stia didn't care to take note of, then turned towards the rest of his entourage.

“We will stay here for the day.” For the first time, he appeared nervous. Stia narrowed her eyes, trying to discern the different emotions crossing his features, unsuccessfully. Though new in the role of a leader, he wasn't too bad, with what and who he had to work with.

“I must meet with the Arl. In the meantime, you should set up in the tavern.” He motioned towards a small hill that rose at the crest of the village. A wooden building rested at its top, extending into the side of the mountain behind it as if it had sprouted from there.

“There are thirteen of us, they will never have enough rooms,” Yael next to her said.

“My apologies, but we don't have enough rooms for thirteen people,” the innkeeper said. He was a lanky man well past his middle age, who had looked startled when the ensemble entered. Yael made a noise that sounded triumphant and annoyed simultaneously. Stia frowned.

“How many rooms _are_ there, my friend?” Dorian asked. He was leaning against the reception desk with casual grace and sounded suspiciously cheerful at the prospect of discomfort. With him, that didn't always mean something good. _Scheming humans are my least favourite humans._

“Eight.”

“Eight!” The mage nodded at his assembled companions. The leadership had ridden off to the castle earlier, and there were only six of them. “Ideas?”

“Yael and I have been sharing a tent for weeks,” Stia offered. She looked to the other woman for confirmation, and Yael shrugged her approval.

“Excellent!”

Jasper waved the arm that he was not trying to place on Varric's head without the dwarf noticing. “Put the brothers in one room and make Cullen and his templar boys take another two.”

Had those introduced themselves at some point? Or taken off their helmets? Stia couldn't remember ever hearing them speak or seeing their faces during the five days they had spent on the road so far.

“We are all better off if the seeker gets a room to herself, trust me,” Varric interjected, moving out of Jasper’s reach, “same with Chuckles here, actually.” Solas made an indignant sound but didn't disagree.

“Dorian, you and Jasper will have to bunk down together as well,” Yael said with something even Stia recognized to be mock surprise. She sounded like she had been waiting to say that since the group set foot in the tavern. Stia didn’t understand. Was this a loaded suggestion among humans, or an obvious one?

“Ah, yes. It certainly would seem so.” The Vint made a pensive pause before turning back to the owner. “We will take all eight rooms, good man!”

Stia left the _Gull and Lantern_ alone. Solas had gone to his room for a nap, Varric, Jasper, Dorian and Yael were playing Wicked Grace, and there was no way of knowing when the others would return from their meeting with the Arl.

At first, she swung by the stables to see how her horse was being tended to. It turned out that, although it was large and well equipped, there was only one hand, a red-faced young boy who was overwhelmed with the task of rubbing down a dozen horses and a pony. She offered to help him and got to work without waiting for him to answer her. Strangely enough, he wasn't afraid of a tall horned woman, or didn't show if he was. It made the silence between them much more comfortable. She only spoke when she needed him to pass her one tool or the other. By the time they were done grooming and feeding the mounts it was already early afternoon. She tossed him a coin, which earned her a bright smile, and left.

There were a few looks thrown her way, but the people of Redcliffe had seen enough not to be truly surprised by a lone Qunari. She sought out a quiet place along the pier wall and sat down. For some reason, she felt tired. The closer they had gotten to their actual destination, the more Stia had started to mistrust the seeming idyll that was the Hinterlands. The strips of forest were vibrant and humming with life, some of it hostile. Then, there was the thing they had found in Haven upon arriving there almost thirty days ago. The templar with the red crystals growing from his body. She remembered his gnarled muscles and distorted features. That was not what normally happened to a holy knight, not even after defecting from the Chantry. Hissrad had informed her that, after aligning with a magister darkspawn, the remainders of the order had been turned to red lyrium, making them not only extremely dangerous and volatile, but also very grotesque. If the whole ordeal would progress as she expected it to, with Corypheus mimicking the Inquisition's expansion of territory and either undermining their stabilizing efforts or pushing his own agenda in the shadows, there would be a lot of fighting. She was ready for that, undoubtedly. There was no question that, in this conflict, the other side was not opposed to anything. Abominations, half-human tainted creatures, a corrupted dragon. The survivors of Haven had told their story, time and time again, often enough for her to realize that she would never leave the horrors of her past behind as long as she wielded a sword, not completely. But then again, none of the Antaam ever did.

The delegation returned by early evening. Cassandra entered the taproom in a sour mood, and the company suffered from it. Up until then, the big table cleared and set for them hadn't fallen short of merriment or laughter. The seeker found a place to sit, and a heavy silence fell. Even Varric was quiet and stared at his plate, looking up once or twice as if he was hoping for someone to start telling a bad joke. The only things that were being passed around freely, however, were the salt and some meaningful looks. There would be no after dinner card games tonight.

“I think I'm heading to bed.” Jasper stood, demonstrated a yawn, and hurried off. Dorian excused himself all of two minutes later. A few pairs of eyes followed them.

Others followed the example, and in quick succession, Dale, Maxwell, Cullen with his templars, and Varric had disappeared upstairs. Yael finished her ale and bid them goodnight. Solas trailed after her, and Stia heard them talking on the stairs.

“Do you know why we went to the castle today?”

“No.”

“Do you want to know?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Stia didn't bother looking up at the seeker as she was too busy soaking up the rest of her stew with a piece of bread. Fighting was the only thing that made her hungrier than travelling; riding through dense forests, constantly alert and attentive to anything that moved around her, and the occasional ridiculousness of her companions, made it a tiring endeavour.

“Because I do not have to know,” she said evenly. “It is leadership business, and I am a soldier.”

“You are a valued member of the –”

Stia raised a hand at the other woman. “It is my role. I observed this, and I take pride in it. You do not have to assure me of anything.”

After having finished her meal, she stood, stretching. The taproom had emptied out significantly, and she was looking forward to sleeping in a bed again. Cassandra, however, was still looking dissatisfied and gloomy. It suddenly and glaringly occurred to her that she hadn't been asked if she wanted to know, but if she minded being told about it.

She sat back down and folded her hands on the table.

“Why did you go to the castle today, seeker?”

The mood at the table hadn’t exactly reached a _boiling point_, the silence too thick and heavy for him to make that joke to himself. The underlying tension had made him uncomfortable enough that dinner dragged on like a bad Orlesian theatre extravaganza. _Semantics_. He knew that Dorian wouldn’t stay at the table much longer, either, so he waited for him at the top of the stairs. The Vint came shuffling up the steps two minutes later and greeted him with a heavy sigh. They exchanged a knowing look, then fell in next to each other.

“I will only say this,” he announced as he pushed open the door of their shared quarter, “these people are going to drive themselves crazy one day with all the guilt and the doubt and the self-loathing.”

“_’Follow my lead for once, you foolish Southerners, confidence does wonders for your skin’_?” Jasper supplied helpfully, now seated on a tiny wooden stool to pull off his boots. Dorian, half lounging on the bed in the corner, pondered his statement briefly, then nodded approvingly. “With a bit more flourish, but you got the gist.”

Although it wasn’t his first time bunking down with another man, and certainly not his first time watching one undress, Dorian’s feline grace and the way his skin caught the candlelight held Jasper’s look in place. His fingers tingled, flexed unwittingly, because he ached to run them over Dorian’s smooth and chiselled body. There was a distinct pull in his stomach, like a knot tightening, and he knew, he just knew that he was lost.

He turned away before the other man could catch him staring and shrugged out of his light armour and undershirt. Cassandra had explicitly forbidden casual clothing, to which he had responded “Oh _no_, but Stia wanted to take her silk dress!”, earning him no laughter. This also meant that most people either just slept in their armament, in underwear, or naked. He wasn’t sure about Cullen’s templars, but judging from their general lack of character, he could imagine them just standing in a corner in full gear until the night was over. Maybe he ought to ask the commander about that, because he didn’t expect the templars themselves to answer.

“Are you going to stand there half-naked for the rest of the night?” Dorian’s voice carried all the usual measure of mirth and mock, but there was something else, too. Something that made Jasper blush in a way that had nothing to do with the fire at his back. He quickly shed the remainder of his clothes (except for his underwear, this wasn’t Antiva, after all), and clambered into bed next to Dorian, trying to ignore the way he looked, sprawled out on the mattress. There were two pillows and only one blanket. Both men were on their backs, unsure what to do next.

“Do you mind the wall?” Jasper asked, pointing to the cold stone behind the Vint. He would rather sleep on the open side. He had an instinctive dislike for being cornered when he wasn’t shadowing someone.

“No, I am hot enough.”

Jasper arched an eyebrow, smiling despite himself. He lifted the blanket and rolled under it. Dorian on the other side of the bed did the same. They fell into a comfortable silence. The logs crackled in the fireplace. Jasper turned to his side, and while he grew more fidgety and aware of how close they were without any talk or the seeker outside their room distracting him, Jasper enjoyed this aspect of Dorian’s company, too. It was easy being with him, although the rogue generally preferred solitude, but also hard, not only because of his undeniable attraction. Dorian was warmth and comfort, quick smiles and all the cheesy jokes in the world, yet also that spark that kept him from dropping his guard completely. Dorian was the shiver he felt when he stepped outside for the first time in the morning and the cold air took his breath away for a second. The glint of sunlight on a blade, beautiful yet deadly. The way that he smiled at him and then talked down to others. It was hard to describe, but he felt it keenly.

“Good night,” Dorian behind him mumbled sleepily. His breath brushed against Jasper’s naked shoulder, and the latter shuddered.

“Sleep well,” he whispered back, careful not to let his voice betray him. It took him a while to settle down, because the man next to him radiated heat like a bonfire, and he had to scramble to get one leg out from under the blanket. For a while, he drifted in and out of sleep, a mechanism he had picked up years ago, and once woke with a start. He lay still for a bit, trying to figure out what had roused him. When he wanted to turn around to see if Dorian was up, too, he realized that it was the mage’s arm heavy around his middle that had startled him. His heart started pounding in his chest, and only allowed him to relax after a minute or two. _I guess this qualifies as romance_. He must have dozed off soon after, because when his eyes opened again, it was already bright morning and a rooster screamed outside their window.

Dorian’s chest was pressed against his back, the formerly loose grip around his mid tightened considerably. He tried to wiggle out of it, but soon noticed that there was something else going on. They were both hard, and although he was certain that Dorian wasn’t awake yet, warmth crept up his neck. He had to get out of this situation before it became embarrassing for them both. He did not want things to be awkward between them, not when it had been going so well. _Maker, is that your sense of humour?_ At that very thought, Dorian stirred and turned towards the wall. Jasper all but fell out of the bed, rolled over to the basin, and furiously splashed himself with water, trying to think of anything but Dorian, barely dressed in a warm and sturdy bed right behind him. The cold trickling down his back helped ease him somewhat, enough for him to pull on his breeches and a shirt.

“Heading out already?”

He almost jumped to the ceiling. How long had Dorian been awake and watching him? And why was the ground not parting to swallow him whole? _Calm down, Jasper. Relax. Chill out._

“No, not really, I mean I will, but only to use the bathroom. I had a bit too much ale at dinner, always wakes me early.” He turned to Dorian, one hand at his neck, probably trying way too hard to look casual and like he was not freaking out. The Vint reclined on the mattress looking like a young god, his hair perfectly tousled, eyes still a bit sleepy, skin aglow in the morning sun. He was like an apparition right out of a luscious Orlesian painting. It gave Jasper the confidence to hope that he had not made a complete fool out of himself yet.

“Alright,” yawned Dorian, “I think I will afford myself another five minutes.” He curled into the blanket and turned back towards the wall. Jasper stood next to the door, an overwhelming need to be close to the other man fighting against his rationality. _Whatever_. He tiptoed towards the bed and pressed a quick kiss against Dorian’s temple before rushing out of the room.

Dorian did not open his eyes, but smiled to himself, sighed, and hugged his pillow tighter.

A day's ride out of Redcliffe, the forests still looked the same. Jasper sighed deeply, the only possible expression of his suffering. He missed the comfort of the tavern bed. He missed the steadiness of the Imperial Highway. He did not understand why he had been eager to leave Skyhold and go on a mission just a week earlier and regretted his decision to do so profoundly.

The group's procedure had returned to how it had been before their rest in Redcliffe. Since their departure from the Inquisition headquarters, the mornings had been early and the days long. Cassandra dragged everybody from their bedrolls at dawn, and until dusk, the imperative was to cover as many miles as possible before settling down.

It was already getting dark around them. Jasper was swaying back and forth in his saddle, tired and unperturbed and ignorant of what Dorian referred to as “essential hip work”, having been sore for the better part of the journey. He reminisced about the simplicity of trekking through the wilderness with Stia and Yael, who were more than a handful, but without the militant ferocity of the seeker. He knew that the leadership thought he didn't catch on to their whispered discussions because he had to turn his head to the left to listen properly, but he knew exactly how Cassandra, Cullen and the Inquisitorial brothers felt about what had happened in Haven. Being deaf in one ear had made him the butt of many jokes in his youth, but was now a great contributor to the elements of surprise and deception, his most trusted weapons as a rogue – aside from his meticulously sharpened blades, of course. Sometimes, he mused if Varric was such a good narrator because he was an avid and inconspicuous watcher like Jasper himself. Maybe he should write a book, too. Assuming the dwarf had called dibs on the whole saving-the-world-effort, there was still plenty of drama left. Dale, who was obviously and hopelessly smitten with Cassandra to the point of agreeing with pretty much everything she said, would make a tragically romantic hero. He was shy, though, and even more of a bumbling idiot than Jasper himself. Much more interesting was the growing animosity between Yael and Cullen, their continued bickering a welcome distraction from the otherwise pervasive seriousness of everyone involved. The trophy for crush of the age would have to go to Stia, however, who, as rumour would have it, had been intimidating one of the pages into delivering flowers to the ambassador's office every week.

“Halt!” called Cassandra from the front of their little parade. Jasper wanted to start singing her praises up until the moment followed up with “We will go another league and then make camp.” He groaned and heard Dorian chuckle.

“Not much of a cowboy, are you?”

Jasper grinned through his discomfort and glanced sideways at the man riding next to him. As always, he looked completely at ease in his current situation, slightly amused by the people around him. His do was immaculate, even after days of travelling. Jasper didn't know how that was possible, unless Dorian had delved into magic for the purpose of discovering spells that kept his wardrobe clean, his beard trim and his hair shiny. All in all, nothing he would put past the Vint's vanity.

“You're a good judge of riders,” he teased, the pain of his numerous blisters forgotten momentarily.

“Oh, I'm an excellent judge of most things. Which is why I do it so frequently.”

The men shared a smile before their attention was drawn to a little commotion right ahead of them. Dorian quirked his perfect eyebrows, then spurred his horse on.

“Give her a break, Curly.”

“Thanks, Varric, but I think I can handle this.”

“That's what Hawke always said and look where it landed me.”

“I would blame that entirely on Cassandra.”

“I can hear you both.”

Somehow, an argument had entangled the foremost part of their group. Although everyone was keeping their steeds at a steady trot, the seeker kept glaring at the culprits over her shoulder. Neither Yael nor Varric seemed too bothered by that, while Cullen was red-faced and very resolutely silent.

“What I meant is that the promise of a warm family reunion might get through to them more than I can,” Varric emphasized. Yael avoided looking at him directly. _Interesting._ Jasper was sure that she had to feel him and Dorian staring, but he was too curious to exact much restraint at this point. Besides, they would be stuck in the Hinterlands together for at least another two weeks.

“Why?” she said, seemingly unwilling to ask the question, “I don't even know them.”

“Because they have lost all of their family in Kirkwall.” Varric's word carried a surprisingly soft note. “You and your sisters might be the only blood they have left.”

“We don't know them, though. Maker, I might not even recognize my sisters because the last time I saw them I was a toddler.” The obvious hurt in her voice gave them all pause. He had gotten to know her as a somewhat pious person, not devout to the Chantry, but quite in touch with the Maker. _The templars probably stirred her up. Never thought I'd feel sorry for a mage_. There was only one circle in Antiva and he had never really concerned himself with it. Yael wouldn’t hear that, of course.

“I don't think we should be listening to this,” he said underneath his breath, just loud enough for Dorian to hear, although he could guess that the Vint wouldn't care much.

“You don't have to, but sadly, I'm an inveterate rascal.” The way he said it made Jasper frown at the bashful tone. Before he could articulate his doubts about Dorian's sincerity, Cassandra barked out an order and they came to a halt. The infighting must have annoyed her immensely.

“We make camp here,” she announced. Jasper dropped off his horse with another sigh.

The campfire had just been lit with an extraordinary flourish on Dorian's part when the clouds tore open and the downpour started. Jasper briefly considered running to his tent screaming but decided against it when Yael conjured a shimmering barrier over their heads.

“How long can you keep that up?” Cassandra asked. The mage gave her a look, then shrugged. “I suggest we all eat fast.”

“I can live with that,” Varric chimed in, and an affirmative albeit non-committal murmur followed.

The Inquisitor whipped some of their supplies into a large kettle and set it over the fire to boil down to a stew. There wasn't much chit chat or even discussion. Everyone was weary from the daily travelling, and the only ones quietly talking among themselves were Varric and Yael. He knew the dwarf had been trailing her, prodding, and asking impossible questions. From his limited point of understanding, no one knew where the more prominent members of the Amell family had disappeared to after their duty had been done. Would she do the same? He hoped not. She was an excellent card player, and he had planned to rip some old friends off with her help after saving the world.

“I'm taking first watch.” Dale had materialized next to him and put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Care to join?”

Dale was polite and educated, the classic first-born son of a noble. He had disappointed his parents by becoming a templar, until the events of the conclave, after which he had followed his brother Maxwell to form the Inquisition. They were the most righteous people Jasper had ever met. They got on his nerves immensely.

“Yeah, sure.”

Taking first watch was always a purely tactical decision. After he was done, he would get to sleep through until morning, and even a face like his needed beauty rest from time to time. He liked to get work out of the way as soon and as easily as possible. His father called it laziness, but really, he was just being pragmatic. It was an Antivan virtue.

The stew was alright, without the luxury of spices, and after everyone had spooned down their portion, one after the other retired to their tents until Dale and Jasper were the only ones left sitting on the damp log next to the fire. The rain had shrunk to a drizzle, which was bearable even without a magical pavilion to keep them dry.

“Who's up next?” the rogue asked, already yawning.

“Cassandra and Solas, I think. I’m glad we have three mages with us.”

“Why?”

“When we sleep, our mind goes to the Fade. Mages are the only ones who can stay conscious there, so in a way, they're never really asleep.”

That wasn't the only reason Jasper would rather be up with Dorian, but certainly interesting. It would explain why Yael was always the first one to bolt upright whenever something moved in their general vicinity. When he heard something rustle in the bushes he usually resolved to wait until it was in stabbing range, or chase after it until it was.

“So, Dale-man. How are things with you and Cassandra?” he asked his companion, who proceeded to turn a fascinating shade of red in the fading fire light.

“The seeker is a steadfast –”

Jasper pursed his lips and shook his head. “Do I look like some wrinkly old grandmother from Rivain to you?” He punched his fellow's shoulder gently. “I'm not an idiot. Pretty much everybody knows, so you can tell me.”

There was a moment of jittery silence, both staring into the embers glowing in the otherwise impermeable darkness.

“If you must know, she is a fascinating woman. But she is not easily moved, and I don't think there's much room for feelings or –”

Something snapped a twig right behind the line of trees across them. Jasper was already on his feet, blades at his side.

“Quiet.” In a forest crawling with red templars, rogue mages and possibly even Orlesians, it was better not to be surprised. Then, he heard something big move in the underbrush.

“Wake the others,” he hissed before creeping off into the night.

The moment Jasper stood, Yael woke up and reached out to shake Stia, who was gurgling softly beside her. “_Teth a_!” the mage said, “Something's wrong.”

She climbed out of her bedroll, into her boots and onto the wet grass outside. Fear threatened to surge through her, so she took a moment to regain her bearings. She saw Dale move from tent to tent, which meant that Jasper was out there. Within minutes, everyone was armed and moving, unbroken tension between them as thick as the morning fog. Yael didn't even have the time to appreciate Rutherford's disarray of curls or Varric's lack of shirt. She sensed the unease of the camp, but also the stirrings in the woods around them.

“I hate running around with clothing stuck in my horns,” Stia grunted from where she stood, at the very front. The three mages brought up the rear. Flames crackled in Dorian's palms, flickering with every thought that crossed his features. They all felt the presence at their backs before it made any sound. Yael whirled around to see a tall, lean, grim giant of a man appear from the shadows, carrying Jasper’s unconscious form in his arms. The look in his eyes made her blood run cold, and she could feel the Vint moving next to her.

“Don't,” she said softly, unsure if he could even hear her amid the chorus of voices that erupted at the sight of the stranger.

“See, I wouldn't be doing that if I were you.”

“Let him go.”

“There is no need for violence.”

“_Ashkost kata_!”

“Release him, now!”

Everyone had started speaking at once, and the mood was rapidly approaching the point of no return. Yael looked around her and saw barely contained emotions bubbling to the surface. Dorian was out of it, his lips drawn in a terrifying snarl. For all his pomp and sarcasm, it was easy to forget how dangerous he could be. Yael's survey of the situation came full circle, her attention returning to Jasper. He was bleeding from a wound on his forehead and looked as pale as she had ever seen him. After a moment's hesitation she stepped forward, into the line of fire. The stranger didn't flinch or back away. Deadly silence fell over the camp.

“Who are you?” she asked. _Doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't make demands. Took a hostage and walked into a situation where he was outnumbered one to twelve. Why?_ Her mind was racing, spurred on by the fear of losing Jasper.

“Erus.”

“I'm Yael. We are the Inquisition.”

"I know. Your friend?" He indicated Jasper's lifeless form.

"Yes."

She forced herself to stay calm. Her hands were raised in what she hoped to be a pacifying gesture, her staff useless and forgotten in her tent. _Shit_. Sweat was beading on her forehead. Could she freeze Erus faster than he crushed Jasper in his arms if push came to shove? He didn't look like someone who would die quickly or be deterred by a single crossbow bolt.

“Did you attack him?” _Please say no and let him go_.

"No."

The silence was heavy with anticipation. And then, without saying another word, Erus lowered Jasper to the ground and took a step back. A barrier sprang into existence around the rogue as Dorian rushed forward. “I got you”, she heard him murmur. The relief was palpable, although Stia and Cassandra still eyed the stranger with burning mistrust. It wasn't until then that Yael noticed the giant war hammer strapped to Erus' back and realized that no matter how uncomfortable the situation was right now; it could get a lot worse.

“We were chasing the same thing, he and I,” he remarked, “darkness in the woods. Your lot call it red templars. A few of them crept up to your firelight. The biggest one knocked him out.”

“Then we have you to thank for bringing him back,” she said pointedly, hoping that her companions would hear. Erus’ accent, or lack thereof, was not familiar to her, and he had to have some agenda to be crawling around the Hinterlands in times like these. She knew that; the others knew that. Ignoring Dale's exclamation behind her, she approached Erus slowly, as she would a predator. He didn't move, only raised an eyebrow when she craned her neck to get a better look. His face was sunburnt, but not as stern as she might have thought.

“Thank you. I would hate to lose that guy.” They beheld each other for a long moment, until Yael’s neck was starting to hurt from having to look upwards. “So, is there a reason you’re trekking through the Hinterlands alone, without company or baggage?”

He mustered a smile at that, throwing her off course for a moment. “Yes.”

“That sounds rather inconvenient.”

“Have you considered joining forces with someone else maybe,” Maxwell supplied helpfully, from a less helpful distance.

He looked over her head and at her entourage, who were watching the exchange. Yael could sense their apprehension. He practically smelled of danger.

“If you mean the Inquisition with that maybe.” Erus nodded towards the camp. "That it what I came here for."

Yael jumped at the chance. “He does. Maxwell’s word is sort of final in these things. And you’re too dangerouss to leave out in the world on your own. It’s a win-win.”

Erus laughed once, and then again when everyone jumped at the sound.

The next day was taxing. After Erus' appearance, and his joining, the night had been cut short. The morning brought more rain and a mood that unsettled the horses. When Cassandra called for departure, the hostility had not waned. Dorian did not leave Jasper's side, who was unusually silent. Two out of thirteen people that were part of the mission did not feel the need to have their weapons drawn in the presence of the newcomer, those two being Yael and Stia. They rode next to each other in silence, ignoring the looks they were getting. Rutherford, who was leading their procession together with the seeker and the Trevelyan brothers, could be heard complaining until the very end of the line.

“I wonder if he ever shuts up”, Yael sighed, although she was too exhausted put the proper spite behind her words, “Probably not.”

Stia cocked an eyebrow. “Humans babble. Some more than others.” She turned her head to glance at Erus. “Where are you from?”

“The Anderfels”, he replied without missing a beat.

“The Warden Circle is in Hossberg”, Yael said, “Many opted for the joining when the rebellion started.”

“As you may have noticed, I am not a mage.”

“What brings you to the Inquisition then?”

“Reasons.”

And he would say no more. Yael kept turning their meeting over in her head, how readily he had leapt at them, literally. Was it a cosmic coincidence? Were her instincts misleading her? He was a quiet man, and other than the raw power he emanated, he hadn’t acted in a threatening manner. She had thought to detect a silent purpose, but maybe she was simply mistaken. No one besides Stia seemed to be ready to tolerate him.

That night, when the rain had stopped, Cassandra announced who would take watch instead of allowing the others to choose as she had until then. Neither Jasper nor Yael were assigned, and the last two hours before waking time were given to Erus and all three of Cullen's templars. It was an obvious gesture of mistrust, and Yael was furious. She checked out with Maxwell before stomping off into the woods under the pretence of gathering herbs, a bag on her arm and a glowing crystal in her palm. A few minutes' walk from the camp site, she did indeed find a patch of elfroot and set to ripping them out one by one when she felt something. The forest was mostly silent, except for the drizzle trickling off the trees and the distant hooting of an owl. The air had changed, though. It was a familiar aura, and with sudden clarity she knew that Solas was probably leaned against a tree somewhere behind her, preparing some gloomy speech about their duty and purpose.

“What do you want, Solas?” she called without turning around. She closed her fingers around an herb to keep them from shaking. There was something about Solas that set her off in the worst possible way. She couldn't claim to have known many elves, but he was so _other_ than anyone she had ever met. Whether it was his voice or what he said or how he weaved magic so effortlessly, something made her keep her distance, and she knew that he had noticed.

“Everyone is wary of Erus. Engaging him was bold. Reckless and stupid, some might say.”

She continued to pluck roots and rolled her eyes at his thinly veiled insult. “You would say that, I'm certain. Have you come to lecture me about anything else or are we quite done?”

When he didn't answer, she straightened up and turned to face him, slinging her pouch over her shoulder in the same motion. He was closer than she had thought, his face ghostly white in the blue light of her crystal. His expression was unreadable, and yet she thought to detect a trace of unrest. “There have been hundreds of new recruits recently, me included,” she said at length, “None of them have been treated the way he is.”

“You came to Skyhold with a credible story and purpose. He showed up in the middle of the night with the unconscious body of your friend, said he wanted in and nothing more.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, patience running thin already. “Enlighten me, Solas, is your point of criticism that I should have killed him like the terrible human being that I am?”

“You sense that there is something strange about that man.” He leaned forward on his staff. There was a rare tension in his movements. “You can’t trust him.”

“You're right.” She tilted her head. “I don’t trust many people these days. Not him. Not you.”

He chuckled, a sound she had come to resent more than every single “Magic was made to serve man and never to rule over him” quoted at her throughout her lifetime.

“Neither of us can tell the future, so it would serve us both to be very, very careful.” He melted into the shadows and was gone. Yael's heart raced, and she was not sure what to think of the encounter they had just had. She stood there for a moment, amidst a dripping, dark forest, and took a deep breath. _There will be a day when a bird poops on his bald head. And you will be there to_ _laugh at him_.

“Jasper.”

Jasper flinched and didn't look up. He didn't have to, since he knew exactly who had ridden up to him. The ill-tempered black steed that Erus called Rameses instead of _demon made horseflesh_, which was truer to his nature, neighed impatiently.

“What do you want?” He wasn't angry, but he sounded it. He didn’t remember what had happened in the woods. All that kept replaying in his mind was the brute force that had sprung on him in the dark, the pain of that first hit burning into his flesh and memory. He honestly couldn’t say if it was Erus, or a red templar like he claimed. It could have been both; it could have been neither. He didn’t know, and it was making him shiver. Never had Jasper feared for his life as he had done in the past night. Danger, be it from Antiva or the world’s general madness, had always been a few steps behind him, comfortably distant. Suddenly, everything had become real. And despite all that, he wasn't mad at anyone. The Inquisition needed people and Erus was a monster of a man. Jasper just felt very, very small. Dorian did all he could to help. They both welcomed the excuse to cuddle up, as if the rumours weren't persistent enough already, and although everything about the mage was intoxicating, from his impossibly warm skin and his smell and his smile to the sound of his voice in the morning, Jasper wasn't there, couldn't enjoy it.

And now Erus was right next to him. Even in daylight, he seemed like a little mountain, his eyes bright like the summer sky, but shadowed by a sinister look.

“Ask how you are doing.”

“You care?”

There was a pause. Erus didn't answer, just waited for him to continue.

“I’m fine. Bruised, but fine.”

Strangely enough, Jasper didn’t want to know anything about Erus. He didn’t partake in the gossip, Yael’s endless questions or Dorian’s theories. The man gave him chills, like something evil out of a children’s story. Maybe, if he didn’t look at him for long enough, he would go away on his own.

“Was there anything else?” He turned his head towards Erus and attempted a smile. It probably looked more like a grimace, but the Ander shook his head and rode off towards the front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ataash varin kata: "In the end lies glory"
> 
> Maraas kata, vashedan: "Nothing is ended, damn it"
> 
> Bas ebadim qalaba: "These foreigners are cattle"
> 
> Teth a: "Danger" (exclamation)
> 
> Ashkost kata: "You are seeking death"


	4. Edge of mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stia, Jasper and Yael have made a new home in Skyhold, but now they have to prove their mettle to the Inquisitor. At the frontline of the war, questions await. Is victory possible? Or will there be devastation before the sun has set? And why, for the love of the Maker, are there so many bears?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all, thanks for reading in again! The pace is picking up a bit in this chapter, so I hope you like it. Translation for Qunlat at the end of the chapter, as usual. Thanks for the kudos so far and extra points to those of you who recognize the song and the cat cameo featured in this chapter.

The camp was nestled into the side of the mountain, accessible only by a narrow and winding path. Maxwell led the ascend, with Dale right behind him. It was an almost perfect day. A few clouds lined the sky, chased by a lazy breeze. Birds stirred in the crowns of evergreen trees, and he saw a fennec stretched out on a boulder, basking in the sun. Without looking down, he wouldn't suspect that anything had ever been amiss in the Hinterlands. The valley below him, however, was still riddled with patches of scorched earth, debris and the occasional remains of a dead body, picked clean by crows and other scavengers long ago. He remembered the first time they had come here, only days after the death of the Divine, with caravans and a whole contingent of soldiers. Their previous work and the established camps that the Inquisition kept operational made travelling between afflicted regions much easier.

His brother dismounted, and, as usually, the rest of their party did the same. Dale found himself more and more fascinated by the group mentality of his comrades; although Maxwell hadn't exactly established his leadership skills, especially not with the new arrivals, everyone instinctively moved to follow him. Was there something about being a noble’s son that instilled him with this? Or had he been truly touched by Andraste? They had talked about it more than once, but neither could find an answer, not even for themselves. For a time, Dale hadn't known how to feel about the whole ordeal that followed the conclave. His brother left him in Haven, one of the few templars still loyal to the Chantry and its statutes, to attend the pilgrims, arguing that his temperament would be better used there. After the explosion, and reports saying that the entire top of the hill had been utterly destroyed, he hadn't known what to do. Most of the templars he grew up training with had been in the temple, clerics he had served diligently, and, of course, his younger brother. Maxwell, now Herald of Andraste. When he stood with the remaining knights and watched the soldiers under the seeker's command drag Max's lifeless body into the holding cells underneath Haven's chantry, he stopped breathing for a long moment. Nothing had felt real, and he couldn't remember trailing the small delegation until someone stopped him and demanded to know what he was doing. “That's my brother,” he remembered saying, “that's my brother you've got there.” They interrogated him every day until Maxwell finally awoke. There was nothing for him to give them; nothing he said satisfied them or calmed the seeker. When he looked at her now, he saw a different woman. The same immaculate braid in her hair, the same scar on her cheek, the same determination, but the unrest had vanished from her eyes now that she had a new task. He even caught her smiling from time to time. Things had improved since that dreadful, unbearable day three months ago. He knew it was going to get worse again, like it had when Haven had fallen. But his brother would not give up, and neither could he.

“I want to go down to the Crossroads and see how Corporal Vale is holding up without Mother Giselle first thing,” the Inquisitor announced. Or he would have done as much had he raised his voice and not only been talking to Cassandra, Cullen and Dale. Since Jasper was subtly eavesdropping on the leadership while pretending to be setting up his tent a few feet away from the requisition table and would probably relay every word of it to Dorian and Yael later on, Trevelyan might as well have been screaming it to the heavens.

“I don't mind the others going off on their own for today,” the Inquisitor continued, “it might even be a good idea to sweep ‘round and see if there are bandits that need clearing out.”

“Is it wise to let the mages go unsupervised?” Cullen broke in and Jasper almost groaned, tent strings in hand. He got it, he understood it, mages were dangerous; so was every soldier with them. So was Cullen. So was _he_. Cassandra said what Jasper, and everyone else listening in, was thinking, “We have more pressing concerns than the mages who came to us willingly going rogue.”

“Let's get moving, then,” Dale chimed in after an uncomfortable minute of silence. Jasper had to smile at that. He knew that _he_ could think of more interesting things to do than walk around a village with the inquisitorial authorities at his heels.

“Alright!” Maxwell clapped his hands once, and everyone who had politely turned their backs to the leadership conversation up until that point, which included most of the soldiers, moved as their Inquisitor addressed them. “Camp officers stay put, everyone else can sign out and do what they want today.” A cheer rose from the assorted two dozen soldiers. “I want no dilly dally; you all represent the Inquisition!” Choruses of “Yes, your Worship” answered, but Jasper had already thrown his belongings into his newly erected tent and gone off in search of his friends. He found them conglomerating under a tall oak just a stone's throw away from camp. He noticed, not for the first time, that Erus had simply disappeared into the world beyond their direct vicinity; where to, he did not know. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

“What's the plan?” Dorian asked, in a tone that communicated he didn't expect anyone to have one. “Smoke deathroot like when we were young? Climb some trees and throw pinecones at our commander from there?” Stia frowned at the Vint, then shook her head ever so slightly. “I'm not comfortable being here without a secure perimeter. We should take a look around.”

“Yeah, Dorian, your experiences are not universal.”

“We should,” Jasper said, looking over his shoulder to see if the giant Ander had reappeared miraculously, “to avoid any further... _surprises_.”

“I agree, minus the insinuation,” said Yael.

“Splendid, let’s go then.” Dorian, once again, was looking utterly pleased with himself. The four of them set out on foot, and although Jasper would have preferred to just scoot over the boulders that walled the camp in from the South, he knew that the seeker was probably keeping both eyes on them. They took the left path that led into the hills and away from the Crossroads, all of them uncertain where exactly they were going but in agreement about the general direction.

Away from the bustling of the soldiers and their watchful superiors, he was able to appreciate the wild beauty of the Hinterlands. The mountains sprouted from the ground with a harsh abruptness, their jagged peaks seemingly reaching for the sky. Meadows dotted with long grasses and bright flowers whispered in the wind. A few rams were grazing idly. The war had caused devastation among the people, but nature was unperturbed as usual.

“What should we be looking for?” Jasper asked no one in particular. His mage companions shrugged simultaneously.

“Fireplaces, scraps that were left behind, tracks in the mud,” Stia rattled off without any inflection whatsoever. She had, step by step, moved to the front of the group. It probably came to her naturally, to be out and underfoot, to have a fixed aim.

Jasper elbowed Dorian in the side and said: “As long as I don't have to listen for anything, I'm good.” He did not get a reaction.

Then, the terrain started to get steeper until they were faced with a wall of stone. The rogue wistfully thought of the grappling hook he had left in Skyhold. Stia, however, did not seem the least bit impressed. She simply kept walking and was halfway up the slope before the others scrambled to follow. Dorian pulled himself up from one ledge to another, Yael climbed with the casual grace of a mountain goat, and Jasper simply ground his daggers into the rocky surface for support. Granted, it wasn't the best use for blades of folded Alamarri steel, and he would have to sharpen them very carefully next time, but he wasn't about to be bested by a mountain.

“It appears quiet so far,” Dorian offered. The view from the top was marvellous. Jasper wanted to say as much when he was interrupted. Yael made a sound low in her throat that was unlike anything he had ever heard from her. She was staring off into the distance, her body perfectly still, and then broke out into a run.

The very moment she sensed it, her world narrowed down to a singular thought. _Help_. Nothing else mattered when she could feel the distress and fear that weren't hers echo through her so clearly. It was like a red flashing light had appeared in her mind, calling out to her. She started towards it, paying no mind to her companions who might or might not be following. Yael was not a fast runner, but her connection to whoever had reached out to her spurred her on. The mountainside path opened into a hayfield before her, with a small wooden house next to it. Past it, three templars had cornered a young elven boy, who was crying hysterically. Flames danced in his hands.

The mage gave an angry warning shout, and one of the knights exploded when a bolt of pure light hit him, blood and matter spraying everywhere. The others turned around, their eyes glazed over and red. “Maleficarum!” one of them yelled but froze into a hideous ice statue the instant he said it. Yael stepped toward the remaining templar. The moment he lifted his sword, she raised her staff from her side and pointed it right at him. Fire engulfed him from head to toe; a blue flame that seared the grass and seemed to burn up the air itself. He fell, screaming in anguish. Within a matter of seconds, the flesh had melted off his bones. A long moment of heavy silence followed, her own pulse pounding a staccato rhythm into her head. _What did I just do? What did I do, what did I do?_ She could feel the breathless hesitation of her companions behind her. Not one of them moved, but the world around her was spinning. She felt like she was choking on her own air, her body petrified as her mind strained to replay the previous moments. _Something, anything._

The child had dropped to his knees, hands clutching at it. His body was being wracked by sobs. The sound raised her from her stupor. In one motion, she sheathed her staff and crouched low, sat on her heels, meeting the boy at eye level. Now that she looked at him directly, he appeared older than at first glance, maybe 12.

“I'm Yael,” she said softly, “and these are my friends.” Carefully, and trying not to startle him, she inched closer. “I know they might look a bit scary, but they are really nice.” She spoke, quietly, while he only stared at her through a veil of tears. “What’s your name?”

“Levi,” he said. His voice sounded as small as he was. Yael did not know if her heart was breaking for him or racing with the anger of the thousands of mages whose fate he had almost shared. He looked lost, hounded, his attention wavering between her and the carnage around them. “They attacked m-my parents and … now they're … they're …”

She expected to see bodies sprawled on the ground. There was blood, dampening the grass. But no elves in sight. The templars must have taken them away, or worse. A few paces away, there was a fourth knight, burned to a crisp in his armour. _The work of a mage, but not mine_. Levi had noticed what she looked at and let out a shaky breath. _They had it coming. They tried to kill a child._

“Don’t worry.” She extended a careful hand. “I’m a mage, too. I know that you were scared and angry.” She glanced at her companions over her shoulder, who displayed varying degrees of alarm, then turned back to the boy. “You didn’t want this to happen. It's not your fault.” His fingers were tearing at the hem of his linen shirt, eyes downcast. The knees of his trousers were soaked in blood, and only then did she notice the wound on his temple. “We are with the Inquisition. We can get you to a safe place if you come with us.”

“What about my parents?”

“We will find them, I promise.”

Yael was surprised when he held out his hand to her without looking up and took it gently. She gave it a squeeze, then pulled him up to his feet. There was still no sound from the group, the awkward shuffling of feet aside, until Stia spoke up unexpectedly.

“Let's get back to camp.”

“We can’t take in every single orphan we find, let alone dangerous ones.”

“He’s not dangerous, he is a traumatized little boy.”

“You're biased.”

“Yeah, because I know what it’s like to be a mage, and you don’t.”

“He killed someone.”

“I killed three someones. They were poisoned with red lyrium and attacking innocents.”

“I don’t think you should keep mentioning that.”

“I guess there is always the alternative to lie down and die. At least for a mage, right?”

“That's not what I mean and you know it.”

Emotions had been running high in the Inquisitor's tent for about an hour, and the air was getting thicker by the minute. When they had arrived back at the camp with a distraught child in tow, most people were confused and intuitively sympathetic at first, until one of the scouts started whispering about what had transpired in the hills. Most people then took a step back, from the boy, and from Yael herself. She had taken him directly to the Inquisitor and presented her argument; that they had to take Levi with them back to Skyhold. Maxwell and Cassandra only listened. Rutherford didn’t know how to do that.

“This is about a little _boy_ who just came into his magic and is all _alone_,” she said through gritted teeth. Not that forcing herself to confess to the triple murder she had just committed was hard enough, no, Rutherford was intent on making it worse. She was on the verge of crying. She didn’t want to cry. She wouldn’t. “The only mages in Thedas that are not inherently a danger to others are those in the Inquisition. I will educate him myself if I have to.” Levi was outside in Dorian's capable hands, as she could hardly control her anger and outrage, and doubted that the young elf would fare any better at this moment.

“That is not an option,” the commander objected, “You have other duties to the Inquisition. Give him to the Chantry sisters at the orphanage.”

“_Are you listening to a word I’m saying?_” the mage snapped, louder than she had intended to, “If he isn’t educated, that’s when he becomes a danger. What alternative is there? We can’t leave him here, in the care of those who don’t understand. He _has_ to be taught in the way of the Circle!”

“I agree,” Cassandra said before the situation could escalate or Yael suffered her very imminent heart attack, “We have a responsibility, and otherwise we would be condemning the boy.”

Yael mouthed a very loud “thank you” in her general direction.

“I don’t see this discussion going anywhere,” Rutherford grumbled, “ultimately, the Inquisitor has to decide.”

Everyone turned to Maxwell, then, who seemed a little overwhelmed with the sudden attention. At length, he sighed. “I agree that mages are best dealt with by other mages.”

Yael turned towards the disgruntled templar. Rutherford merely scoffed. “This is setting a precedent we will not be able to step back from.” She groaned and smacked her palm against her forehead. This man was simply too much. Too much for her nerves, and too much for what she had lived to see. _You can't roast him, you can’t roast him, he’s a human, not a potato._ Before either Cassandra or Maxwell could interfere, she moved into his personal space. She wasn’t going to hurt him, but they certainly thought her capable, as she noted to her great satisfaction.

“Dearest Cullen_,_” she started sweetly, “I strongly suggest that you go back to doing whatever it is commanders do these days and let _me_ do what _I am_ supposed to.” A furious blush crept up his neck. She patted his shoulder sympathetically. When no one was objecting, she smiled.

“That's settled, then.” She bowed out and exited the tent. Levi sat under a nearby tree, staring into the void. Jasper and Dorian stood close, vigilant and very concerned with their surroundings.

“From the silence in there I take it you won,” Jasper grinned, “or I'm deafer than I thought, both is possible.”

“I got Rutherford to shut up long enough to walk out,” she said, “so there's a novelty.” The mage looked around. “Where's Stia?”

“Oh, she went down to the Crossroads after you first started screaming.” Dorian was brushing some invisible dust off his armour. “We were just waiting for you to take over,” he motioned towards the young elf, “because _we_ are going to take a stroll.” Jasper blushed ever so slightly at that, and Yael managed to disguise her snort as a cough when the Vint held his arm out for the other man to take it. Instead, she fixed her glance on Levi, who was smiling weakly at her. “I think you and I are going to go find something to eat.”

The old woman was persistent, and exhaustingly so.

Stia had wandered into the settlement after walking a long and thorough perimeter and helping a young soldier untangle his vambraces, yet was still unawares, uncertain what to expect of the humans. There was a pervasive desperation, a sentiment rather than express mood, something she had observed in Redcliffe as well. It was understandable that the outburst of a civil war, the loss of one's home, death aplenty and repeated attacks on civilians by either faction did not exactly promote an optimistic attitude, or at least she thought so. Before she had a chance to look around or find out how to make herself useful, a small old lady leaning heavily on a cane had approached.

“You there! Young lady!” she had snapped at her. Never in her life had Stia felt so immediately overwhelmed with a person.

“Do you need something?”

“Of course, I do, why do you think I'm hobbling around in this Maker forsaken weather? These old bones are too stiff and achy for any nonsense!”

Stia had frowned, contemplating whether she should mention the sunshine or the warm temperatures to the woman, but ultimately decided against it. Humans were strange and far enough from reality as it were.

“What?” she had asked instead.

The elderly lady hadn’t answered, just motioned for her to follow. A few paces outside the village, there was a hulking gnarly pine tree, and in it –

“My boy has climbed up there and now he won't come back,” the women said, impatiently shaking a tiny fist, “A big lass like you can get him down.”

Stia, tall as she was, had to crane her neck to look up into the crown of the tree. On one of the higher branches cowered a fluffy white cat who began meowing incessantly as soon as it saw her. _Vashedan. The feline is making demands as well_.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” The woman waggled her thin arms. “Do something!”

Reluctantly, she shed her pauldrons and gauntlets, propped them up against a nearby stone, and assessed the situation. The cat sat at a height of maybe seven meters; for Stia, that wasn’t much of a reach. The wide and gnarly trunk of the tree should prove an adequate foothold. She dug her fingers into the rough bark, sharp claws sinking into the wood beneath, and started upward. Sweat was running down her back by the time she reached the first branch, the heavy armour an additional strain. She welcomed it. A warrior never slowed down, but the days in Skyhold had done much to thwart her mantra. She relished the way her muscles tensed when she pulled herself up, and the effortlessness with which she did it.

“What is taking you so long?” the old lady called from below, “I can’t wait on you young ones all day long! I have to oil my feet!”

Stia didn’t even bother to look down, and instead pushed herself off the wood below her to reach the cat. It regarded her critically for a moment before meowing again.

“Here, small feline.”

The cat didn’t hesitate before jumping towards her. It pressed against her chest and started purring happily. Stia raised an eyebrow. Uncertain what else to do, she scooped the animal up, held it close with one arm, and used the other to lower herself from branch to branch until she thumped to the ground.

“There you go.” She held the cat out to the woman, who motioned for her to set it down. It immediately sat down next to her and started cleaning itself. The old lady gave it a long and appraising look.

“Miyuki, did you get in trouble with the templars again?”

Miyuki meowed, and then went back to licking his fur. Without another word, the woman turned her back and hobbled off, the cat trailing after her. Stia raised a hand in salutation, then headed towards the crossroads again.

The Chantry had a firm hold on the place, but in a different way than she might have come to expect from what the Qun had told her. Sisters and Revered Mothers bustled about, mimicking patterns they had been following since the war broke out. She didn't care to know much of the Andrastian church, but she remembered that it was supposed to be devoted to helping the weak and needy. It reminded her of the Tamassrans, only in a human, enabling way. The Qunari did neither allow nor encourage inferiority, and the only assistance extended to such individuals was that of re-education.

Her thoughts returned to the hills. It wasn’t her first time witnessing magic. She had seen it in the horrors of Seheron, and in the streets of Tevinter, and again on her journey South. The thought of it made her shiver despite her upbringing. Yael had weaved protective wards and lit fires, casted barriers and conjured the occasional bolt of lightning during their travels. She had never killed before. The raw and powerful aggression seemed in conflict with her usual behaviour, but the facts were impossible to dispute. Yael was not only dangerous, she was a _bas sarebaas_, of all things. Under the Qun, she would have never left the templars, her _arvaraad_, and Stia would have had to kill her on sight. Was the human approach wrong after all? Was it contrary to the greater good?

Thunder cracked in the distance, and Stia looked up to a storm front rolling towards the valley from the closest mountain range. The clouds flared with lightning. It, too, reminded her of Yael, whose weapon of choice was electricity, and how she had used it to tear apart the templar closest to the elf without even raising a hand. A life for a life, and only the question of innocence left to determine if it had been righteous, or murder. _It is not for me to judge. I am a soldier, and so are the mages._

The wind picked up, whipping her braid off her shoulder. Around her, people began to close their shutters. There was an air of urgency that did not escape her. Stia abandoned her mission to lend help the villagers, as she could not change the weather and they seemed well-equipped to handle it, and instead decided to return to camp. She passed the old lady on her way, who nonetheless kept a remarkable speed. “Should’ve known… these old bones never lie!” she heard her muttering, Miyuki right at her heels. Stia didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched. She could feel the tips of her fangs dig into her lower lip when she did, and reminded herself that, while her mind was intact now, her duty to herself was never done. To be in touch with the principles of the Qun was to follow them every day.

“Stia.”

Halfway up the hill, she turned at the mention of her name, surprised to see Solas peering at her from the shadowed space between a boulder and a tall oak. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Do you think it is wise to stand under the trees, with a storm approaching?” she asked cautiously. He had a way of getting the jump on her, something that not even the most light-footed Qunari managed. Both their races had senses superior to those of humans. The fact made her even more wary of him.

“I have a question for you,” he said, his complete disregard of her words earning him a scowl that would have sent most people running. He knew how not to endear himself to others, and she had a feeling he didn’t want to. “Do you still consider yourself a follower of the Qun?”

A chill ran through her at that. It was a question she had asked herself every day since her _karataam_ had been slaughtered, and she hadn’t been able to agree with herself yet. “That is none of your concern,” she replied stiffly, “and you will not understand.”

He shook his head slightly. “The Iron Bull doesn’t seem too hung up on the Qun.”

“Hissrad and I are not the same. We have different roles.” She almost snarled at him. Somehow, he got under her skin. “As I said, you do not understand.”

They stood mere feet away from each other. How easy it would be for her to hurt him if he made her angry, and something about him made her downright furious.

“I know enough to know that you could be a danger to the Inquisition. Do you still hold allegiance to the Qun? Or do you know how to be your own person?” The hint of a smile graced his lips, as if he had caught her doing something shameful or wrong. He hadn’t.

Stia turned on her heel and marched up the hill.

“_Basra_.”

The azure gentian thrived in the small cracks and crevices of the mountain side, undergrown by dry grass and withered bushes. It shone out from between stark grey and pale brown. Jasper couldn’t help but admire the resilience of something that delicate and pretty. He had heard enough soldiers complain about the vastness of the Hinterlands, the rolling hills, the chattering of the birds that lulled people into a false certainty about the world around them. While he didn’t agree with the sentiment that rogue templars or crazed mages were lurking behind every stone, tree and bush, it was hard to keep your guard up when the area looked like something out of a landscape painting that some fat old Orlesian noble hung in their salon. There were too many things distracting him from what he was thinking at any given moment, those flowers, that rock formation, Dorian’s ass – the latter in particular, and he knew that the Vint knew. It was impossible to miss the smug glances he directed over his shoulder at Jasper now and then. They weren’t talking much, although Dorian stubbornly kept to his right side, where his good ear was, but Jasper enjoyed silence just as much as a good talk. It wasn’t long until he felt Dorian’s agitation, and stopped to look at him. The other man met his eye, then looked away.

“Is there something on your mind, Dorian?” he prompted. The Vint was fidgety, and uncertain where to put his hands, something not completely uncharacteristic, but still rare. Jasper waited.

“Well, yes. There always is, actually, it comes with being brilliant, but, ah, well.” Dorian sighed. “I meant to ask how it happened. How you lost your hearing.”

“I see.”

He motioned towards a fallen tree a few paces away, and they sat down, the mage to his right. Dorian exuded anxiety like a heavy perfume, but Jasper didn’t mind the question. If anything, he was surprised that it seemed to be such a big deal to talk about.

“It didn’t happen, I was born like that.”

“You were? And no one tried to fix it?”

“My parents didn’t notice for a year, and I grew up with it perfectly normal.” He shrugged. “By the time somebody offered to do something about it, I was adapted. And I don’t want it to change now, either. It’s part of me. Being hearing would only confuse me, I think.”

A glance to the side shocked him out of his casual nostalgia. Dorian looked like he was about to cry, and it dawned on him that his nervousness was not due to the question but hinged on the answer.

“Dorian?” Jasper brushed his fingers against his friend’s shoulder. “What is it?” There was a shudder, a deep breath, and slowly, the Vint seemed to come back to himself.

“I suppose the world outside of Tevinter still surprises me from time to time,” he said quietly. “I’m not even disabled, and I mean this in the most respectful way, and my father still tried to change me.”

“Change you?”

“With magic.”

A terrible and dark sensation ran through him. It was like being submerged in ice water; for a long moment, everything went numb, then his nerves awoke to scream at him to do something. He clenched his fists.

“Your parents did that because of who you like to be with?”

Dorian coughed out a sarcastic laugh that was both heart-breaking and spiteful. His eyes were wet. “My mother sometimes forgot she had a son, but my father never did. Always watching. After I was caught in bed with a friend, I was put under house arrest. A few days later father attempted the ritual. I – ran. South.”

Jasper instinctively threw his arms around Dorian and pulled him close. He hugged him back with quiet ferocity. Neither would move at all for a long while.

“I think you’re perfect,” Jasper murmured, “If anyone ever comes after you again, I will kill them, and not with kindness.” A chuckle shook Dorian’s body in the rogue’s firm grip. “And I won’t let go unless you want me to.”

“I really don’t, you know.”

There was an unfamiliar pull in his chest, not unlike the way his heart raced during a rush of adrenaline, but much more intense. He wanted to write it off as the mixture of anger and affection that was rattling him, only it didn’t feel that way at all.

“It wasn’t even because I prefer men,” Dorian mumbled into his shoulder, “It’s because I didn’t want to marry this girl.” The worlds seemed to fall from his lips without permission. “I was the heir, the one who would not only ensure the blood line, but my father’s continued power and success. That I put myself and my own happiness over him… disobedience is a grave insult to any magister.”

Jasper tightened his hold on the mage, hoping to convey what he wasn’t sure he could find the words to express. “And you should be making that decision every day.” He trailed his hands up Dorian’s back and put them on his shoulders. With a bit of distance between them, he could look at him directly. “You deserve to be happy, Dorian.”

The Vint smiled, and it was genuine and dazzling. Jasper suddenly had a very hard time swallowing. “And I thank you for reminding me of it,” Dorian said. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Jasper’s cheek. “You are quite lovely, you know, for an Antivan.”

The Circle had taught her that most things happened to her because she was a mage; that meant a lifetime of hardship, humility and laudable suffering in the eyes of the Maker and Andraste. The older she was the less she agreed with that, and although she didn’t regret not having hadn’t rebelled, she was _so_ over it.

Her initial fury had waned and turned into a strange and protective energy, however, when Levi tugged at her arm and pleaded with her not to send him away. _Yeah, Rutherford will die in his sleep if he tries that_. She paused, considering how different that thought felt after what she had done earlier in the day. _Well, this is war_. After making enough assurances for Levi to stop looking at her like she was going to disappear into smoke at any given moment, she took him down to the Crossroads where she knew the care patrol instated by Mother Giselle to be. Even with the mages recruited, rogue and red templars alike roamed the Hinterlands, terrorizing the population. To their credit, the Chantry sisters did not seem to care about his gift; one of them decided that Levi needed a medical examination, something hot to eat, and a lot of rest. Sister Hilda led them to a low, expansive house that nestled against the hills enclosing the valley. Inside, there was a cooking fire, heavy curtains separating smaller spaces filled with bunk beds from the main room, and –

“That’s a lot of children,” Yael couldn’t help but notice. The building was packed with kids, three dozen of them at least, human and elven, most of them no older than ten and a few who had just grown past toddler age. Levi was the oldest one in the room. She turned to look at sister Hilda. “Are those all refugee children?” The woman shook her head. “No, those are the orphans. It’s easier on them to keep them all in one place, and most of the adults around here help taking care of them.”

She wanted to cry at the sight of those little faces, having to imagine what they had to endure, at the hands of strangers who thought only of themselves, suddenly all alone in the world with hardly anyone to care about what happened to them. She couldn’t think of all the children who hadn’t made it to the Crossroads at all.

“This is good work you’re doing,” she managed to say. Sister Hilda touched her shoulder, then turned to Levi. Yael felt her knees buckle and waved weakly when the sister led her charge away to give him a thorough once over. She would not ever let him out of her sight again without knowing that he would be safe. After taking a deep breath, she looked around the house, searching for a situation that required her help. She found nothing of immediate concern, and instead decided to walk the perimeter to relieve her growing anxiety. There was a book she once read, so long ago that it felt like a memory from another lifetime, where the wounded and orphaned of a terrible war had been gathered in a hospital, only to be bombed to dust by their enemy.

Before she could set out towards the door, someone tugged at her armour. She glanced down to see a tiny little boy, maybe four, but small for his age, who grinned at her with buck teeth and dark shining eyes. “Are you a new sister?” he asked sceptically. Yael shook her head no. _Just a dangerous mage, little one_. He looked at her earnestly. “Are you searching for your child, then?” She almost laughed.

“I’m here with the Inquisition. We want to make sure that it’s safer now.”

“It’s really not,” he said matter-of-factly, prompting Yael to raise an eyebrow. More children started to gather around them, drawn by curiosity and their friend’s brave act of talking to a stranger with a staff strapped to her back. She smiled.

“Tell me what’s the matter then…”

“Tullio. Well, the soldiers that go out through the mountains always come back injured. And the sisters here, they can’t protect us.”

Yael shook her head, smirking to herself. She had to think of Leliana. “If I were you, Tullio, I wouldn’t be so quick to underestimate the sisters.” She made a pregnant pause. “There is a sister in the Inquisition who knows all the secrets. All of them. Because she’s the spy master.”

An awed hush had befallen her audience, and just when she thought she could sit them all down for some premium storytelling, a violent gust of wind threw open the door and blew out most of the candles in the room. The cooking fire was only a pile of glowing embers in a suddenly absolute dark, and already there was the sound of crying children.

No one had noticed the oncoming storm; at least Yael hadn’t. The low rumbling had seemed distant enough to her. It was no later than early evening, on a crisp autumn day, but the sky was pitch black. In a flash of lightning she saw trees bending in the wind.

Yael made a pointed gesture, and the door slammed shut again. The windows closed, and bolts rattled into place. The candles flickered to life again, and a sudden flame danced in the fire pit. The weather raged on outside. Inside the house, a pin could have been heard dropping. Then, Tullio cried out.

“Did you do that?”

“That was _awesome_!”

The children crowded around her even more than before, each of them yelling another question at her, but before she could answer, an older, sterner sister appeared next to her and cleared her throat. “It is time for the young ones to eat.” The announcement was met with a collective groan. “But she was telling us a story of a sister!” Tullio insisted. At a look from the sister, Yael sighed. “It was more of a statement then a story.” A little girl huffed in disappointment, making her smile. “But I guess I could sing you a song later, if you want me to.”

After a tense hour of dinner, which meant fading into the background as much as possible for Yael, the children raced off to the back part of the building, where she found the youngest tucked into their beds. The sister didn’t leave, ever watchful. Yael sat down in the middle so that she could see all the kids. She would always remember the song her mother used to sing to her and her sisters, and it had been a comfort to her ever since she had been taken to the circle.

_Hush now, my baby,_ _  
Be still love, don't cry.  
Sleep like you're rocked by the stream  
Sleep and remember  
My lullaby  
And I'll be with you when you dream  
  
Drift on a river  
That flows through my arms  
Drift as I'm singing to you  
I see you smiling  
So peaceful and calm  
And holding you, I'm smiling, too  
  
_

When she stopped singing, the smaller children were dozing off or already sleeping. Tullio even snored a little. They looked peaceful, tucked in, carelessly drooling on their pillows, as children should be.

She got up quietly, gave the sinister sister a thumb’s up, and was about to go search for Levi when something close to the door caught her eye. He saw her, too, and started towards her, but she took an instinctive step back.

“Oh, for Andraste’s sake, what are you doing here?” she snapped at Rutherford before he got a chance to start. He had seen her magic the door closed earlier. The realization ran through her like a cold shiver, and even though she wasn’t in the Circle anymore, and he wasn’t her templar, she felt the foreboding sense of doom. For him, she had probably jumped past the line between good mages and bad mages days ago. She shook it off.

“Come _on_, I can’t get an hour of peace? Or are you here to try and deport Levi to the Arbor Wilds?” She didn’t articulate that she would drag him outside by his ear and freeze him against the next tree if that was the case, but she was assured that he understood her message. He usually did.

“No, I am most certainly past that issue.”

He did not sound like he was past that issue, and he looked… confused. _Like someone kicked him really hard_, she thought. _He probably deserved it_. Even now she could hear him sneer _Mages are dangerous_ at Leliana; a string of random words that had her blood boiling like few other things in her life, because it was rooted so deeply in ignorance. Templars had a way of being infuriating.

“I came here because Cassandra saw the storm coming and you were the only one unaccounted for.”

Yael snorted. _Surprise, Cassandra is the first to notice something_. “I had no idea you worried so much for my safety, Rutherford!” she gasped.

“I don’t – I mean I do – ah –” He paused and looked at her unhappily. _Good_. “Your _friends_ wouldn’t let up. They insisted, especially Jasper.”

“Naturally,” she grumbled, “Well, you found me, congratulations.”

“We have to get back.”

“I’m not going out in the storm.”

“You can have my cloak.”

“The _icy sheets of rain_ are not the only thing bothering me, Rutherford.”

“It wasn’t that bad when I got here.”

Yael considered taking her argument further, but then decided against it. The pointed looks some of the sisters were giving them did not go entirely unnoticed, although largely ignored, and she didn’t want to wake the children just because she couldn’t help screaming at the commander. Which was entirely his fault, if you asked her.

“We can’t stay here,” he said at length.

“Fine. I don’t see _why_, particularly, since a stone house beats a tent in any weather, but I would like to sleep in my own bed roll.”

“Again with the complaining.” He regarded her like an adult does a petulant child. “Let’s just wait out the worst and leave then.”

“Great. You can wait it out right here, away from me.”

Cassandra was outside, awake, dressed, fresh as a spring morning, and banging two metal pots against each other before Dale had even pulled on his second boot.

He was a practical man, which was a habit most templars shared, but he also had an affinity for comfort. Sleeping in full armour made his shoulders hurt in the morning, and he didn’t like that. Dale yawned, feeling around the ground for his leg braces. Instead, he touched something soft and squishy. He turned, surprised, to find a fluffy white cat dozing on his sword belt. “Hello there,” he greeted his guest, “what are you doing in here, buddy?” The cat lifted its head and blinked its green eyes at him. “Did you get lost in the storm last night?” He reached out and petted the small animal carefully. It began to purr happily. “I think I’m going to call you –”

“Miyuki.”

He jumped and looked to where the voice had come from. Stia held the tent flap with one hand, motioning towards the cat with the other.

“That is his name,” she clarified helpfully, “He likes to climb trees.”

“How do you know him?”

“I pulled him out of a tree yesterday.”

“Oh. That makes a surprising amount of sense.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. Stia glanced at the cat, then walked away, the sound of her armoured boots fading slowly. Dale scratched Miyuki between the ears. His free hand roamed the ground around him in the search of a shirt when Jasper and Yael fell into his tent, both in a state of undress that would make a revered Mother furious.

“Stia said there was a cat here?” the rogue asked breathlessly before his eyes landed on Miyuki. Dale looked at the friends with something very close to bewilderment. Yael knelt next to Jasper and they were very engaged in making cooing noises and stroking the cat’s silky white fur for the next few minutes. Miyuki seemed to enjoy it, so he didn’t interrupt them. He strapped on his armour and tied together his bed roll. _Where is my dagger? Should I put the tent poles with my extra clothing to save space? _In between thoughts he could hear Jasper and Yael mumbling terms of endearment at the cat until a shout from outside cut them off abruptly.

“Departure in ten minutes!” Cassandra’s voice boomed through camp, and Dale couldn’t help but sigh. She was the most efficient woman he had ever met. Her announcement sent Jasper scrambling out of the tent and gone from sight he was.

“We’ll knock next time, I promise!” Yael was saying, one naked foot on the grass outside. She made her exit swiftly, almost gracefully, and ran straight into one of the scouts. The mage clutched the blanket she wore and ran off. Inside, Miyuki stretched in the way cats did when they have completed their purpose, rubbed against Dale’s arm once again, and sashayed away.

“Skyhold party ready _in five minutes_!”

The tent fabric was securely fastened to her backpack, her horse saddled, her potions refilled. She had also walked a wide perimeter around the camp and swung down to the Crossroads to calm her conscience. The storm had not damaged the village, merely some of the trees surrounding it, and from what she could see, everyone was alright. It was much as she had expected it, but seeing it still gave her comfort. She had used that opportunity to pick up Levi at the impromptu orphanage, because she knew that Yael would be absolutely useless the moment she saw Miyuki, who had been sneaking around camp since the early morning hours.

“Oh, hey, you’re done already.” Yael came tiptoeing towards her, her blanket wrapped around her like a toga. “Sorry I wasn’t much help. There was a cat.”

“I know.” Stia looked the mage over, slightly bemused at her general disarray. “I laid your clothes out for you over there.”

“Thanks, you’re the best.” Yael grabbed her belongings and went off behind the next tree to get dressed. It gave Stia time to sweep the grounds once more, and by the time Cassandra was yelling for the “Skyhold party” to assemble, everyone was ready and looked at least semi-orderly. Solas had no hair to brush, and Varric always looked fashionably dishevelled, a trait he and Maxwell. Out of nowhere, Erus had reappeared, looking solemn as ever. Both he and his horse Rameses seemed in perfect shape and ready to go. Jasper’s hand grasped Dorian’s arm firmly, without either of them looking, as if by instinct. Levi had found his way back to Yael’s side immediately. Stia took passing note of those things.

“Morning, everyone.” Maxwell greeted his companions with a winning smile. “We will ride southwest today. There is a camp that has reported bandits and other roaming troubles, and I’d think we’re enough to smoke them out.”

There was a lot of commotion as people mounted, armour clanking, horses neighing, Varric complaining. Some of the soldiers, the requisitions officer among them, had gathered to see the party off. Others, Stia was sure, were happy to send the important visitors on their way. Nobody liked to have the seeker breathing down their neck, especially while doing their daily work from which their commanders were exempt. The Inquisition, apart from her and Hissrad a thoroughly non-Qunari organization, wasn’t entirely unlike the _antaam_. They even had _asaarash_ in their stables. She had been pleasantly surprised when one of the stable hands at Skyhold presented her with one, a white-and-brown spotted mare she now called Herah.

“Let’s ride!”

The party formed a column as they took to the winding path that led them first to the Crossroads, then further West. Stia spotted the old lady and Miyuki, the former enthralled in a discussion with a soldier. It seemed very one sided, as the women kept nagging the young man without getting a response. Outside the settlement, the hills receded, and the terrain flattened. Solas fell in next to Stia, but she made the conscious decision to ignore him. She could only hope he would pick up on it before he started lecturing her, or else the situation would get very uncomfortable very fast – for him. Instead, she focused on her surroundings; observance always had an oddly calming effect on her. It was like zoning out of herself.

The Inquisitor, Dale, Cassandra and Cullen rode front, as had become the custom. The three templars, whom she had ceased to view as individuals, came right behind the leadership. The middle part was an agglomeration of banter and wits being traded; Yael swooned over her new charge, Levi, for this she took heat from Varric, who in turn kept teasing Dorian and Jasper about their apparent lack of “discretion”, as he called it. Stia and Solas brought up the rear, which made her more adverse to senseless conversations about her state of mind.

“I am sorry for the way our earlier conversation went.”

The Qunari sighed. _What will it take for people to just leave me alone?_ She kept her eyes front.

“Let us not speak of it.”

“I want to apologize.”

“You do not.”

“Will you at least hear me out?”

“No.”

“What was it that offended you?” he said. She could feel him losing his calm, and she wished that someone would just swoop in and relieve her of this conversation. It had grown tiresome already. “That I spoke the truth? That people think for themselves outside the Qun?”

Stia gave him a humourless smile. “What was it you wanted to apologize about?” He opened his mouth. “Ah, I know. You didn’t.” They exchanged glares. “Now begone. I believe this talk is at an end.”

He spurred his horse to pass her, his face smooth and hard to read. She couldn’t bring herself to care about his perception of her, but what he had said about the Qun before gnawed at her resolve. He hit a nerve he probably hadn't even been aiming for, and it bothered her. He bothered her, with his probing eyes and precise questions.

_Do you still consider yourself a follower of the Qun?_ She did not exactly miss the threat of reeducation, of her purpose being taken from her, or deemed worthless. At a defining point in her life, she had been given her sword and became _aqun-athlok_, something she did not feel ready to leave behind. It was not fear of punishment or shame that had prompted her to run from the site of her massacred _kataraam_. It was the knowledge that she had failed herself, and thus forfeit everything that had meaning to her. She could not go back until she felt redeemed. For Solas to burst into her mind with wrong assumptions and what she could only call _offense_, it was beyond her capacities for patience or leniency.

_A follower of the Qun…_ The Qun had guided all her life. It guided Hissrad still. With all the flaws it had and all the wrongs that were committed in its name, it was still her home. It was where she was herself and understood as such. And one day, she would return to it.

Jasper was not happy with his current situation. In fact, he had left any kind of happiness behind in the outskirts camp that morning, before his long and dreadful trek across the Hinterlands had begun. He had become irritated, then frustrated, and finally resigned, yet sullen. The strain had made him give up on making his suffering known to anyone other than Dorian, who shared his intense plight and distaste for discomfort. Swaying, as Dorian did, or in Jasper’s case, reeling in a saddle for hours on end earned a description far more severe than simple discomfort.

“This is preposterous,” he murmured to himself in a fit of angry energy, “Dorian, agree with me!”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

Cassandra had stopped them twice, once at noon to sit out the midday sun and allow the horses some rest, and again in the early evening so Dale and the mages could whip up some supper. When midnight had come and passed without a pause, Jasper had allowed himself to plummet into the depths of his bad mood. Varric’s chatter, usually a certain source of distraction, only served to annoy him, and he turned a deaf ear. _Is that even a saying? I know you can turn a blind eye, figuratively, turning a deaf ear would be a direct transfer. Maybe it’s too specific. Or I just… never heard it. Because that would make an awful lot of sense. Could be that Yael isn’t even lying when she says that I miss out on all of her ‘great jokes’, because I only seem to hear the awful ones._

Even his own thoughts turned into a nuisance. He was bored, but he didn’t want to be doing anything, either. He wanted to sleep, preferably on his bedroll, in a tent, around a campfire. Cuddling with Dorian would make it even better, but he was too tired to seriously consider it. When they arrived, _or if_, he would probably collapse onto the softest patch of dirt he could find. Let the others set up the tents, he would act like a real Antivan for a change. And just when he thought the night would never end, he spotted a light shimmer to his far left. He could have missed it with the thick fog billowing around them.

“What is that?” he asked loudly, and no one in particular, while pointing at the blue shining. “Oh, I suppose it’s the sun, _because we have been riding for a full day_.”

Around him, people blinked at the horizon in mild confusion. Cassandra looked at him over her shoulder from her usual position at the front of the column. “We’re almost there, Jasper. It just took a bit… longer than I expected.” Maxwell mumbled something to the effect of “I could have sworn it was closer”, to which Dale replied something else that could have been a “That’s what you said eight hours ago”. Jasper wasn’t sure. Jasper didn’t care. All he wanted was to get off his stupid horse and lie down. It was a feeling that he was experiencing far too often since he joined the Inquisition.

The group resumed their trek, and to everyone’s surprise, there was a hill not far ahead that was crowned by what could be a camp. It was hard to make out, even for him, because between the mist in the woods and the relative darkness, his sight wasn’t exactly perfect. He could have sworn he heard something move in the underbrush, too, but he dismissed it. Nothing in the forest had any business being awake already.

“It’s the camp,” Maxwell announced suddenly, and dismounted, “we’re here.” The Inquisitor stretched, grabbed his horse’s reins, and started walking. It would be a short walk up the hill, but Jasper welcomed the opportunity to stretch his legs. He felt stiff. The others followed their leader’s incentive as well, and after a few minutes, they were within hearing distance of the encampment. Its inhabitants were just waking up, ready to start their day. The immense relief he felt at the sight of the flickering fire almost brought Jasper to his knees.

There was a roar from between the trees. Something huge and black leapt from the shadows, right at Maxwell. There was a second of silence and shock, during which Erus charged from the back of the line forward. He swung at the beast, and it recoiled with a howl. It seemed to shake the others from their rigor, because Jasper felt himself drawing his blades without even thinking about it. Swords were being unsheathed; staffs pulled from holsters. An unseen force pushed the monster backwards, and then it was engulfed in flames from two sides.

“It’s a… bear?” someone said.

“BEARS!” Cassandra yelled.

“What, no, just one,” Jasper wanted to answer. Something sharp hit him in the back and sent him flying. His armour tore, blood trickled from his shoulders. He hit the ground hard, unable to breathe for a long moment. Through a veil of confusion, he heard the clamouring of weapons and the shouts of his companions. A firm hand grasped his arm to pull him onto his legs again.

There were three of them, three gigantic bears equipped with the terrible wrath of nature. He saw Dale desperately parrying clawed paws with his sword, and Cassandra coming to his defence. Stia and Yael were flanking him, Dorian at his side.

“That’s – bears,” he choked out.

“Huge bears,” Yael agreed.

“Carnivorous mammals,” Stia added helpfully.

It was a terrible battle. The bears were relentless, chased and met them at every turn with fangs and raw strength that even shook the seeker. Solas wove barriers and shields around the warriors while Dorian and Yael combined their affinity for explosive spells to bring the beasts down. They threw themselves forward even through bolts of lightning and fire.

The soldiers in the camp were hardly helpful; most of them woke to the commotion to find the grizzly bears barely held at bay by a company of over a dozen. A dwarven scout had rushed into the fray to drag Levi to safety, and someone kept sticking the first bear with arrows – to no effect.

After what seemed like hours, the last monster fell. With the sun already up in the sky, the scene appeared gruesome. The ground around them was scorched, smaller trees broken off, and the big smouldering bear carcasses at the base of the hill. Jasper was bleeding, Maxwell had been knocked out, one of Cullen’s templars had almost been torn apart, only saved by his own commander’s timely intervention. The exhaustion was painful at this point, and Jasper was certain he could not take another step. Dorian’s arm around his shoulder convinced him otherwise.

“I really hate bears,” he said through gritted teeth when one of the soldiers helped him lie down on his stomach. Apparently, the bears in these parts were vicious and their attacks frequent, which was why the camp had a sick bay tent.

“This is going to hurt,” the woman tasked with patching him up warned. _That’s what he said_, he wanted to counter, but the first tug at his wounds was so painful that it robbed him of his thoughts momentarily. Fabric of his undershirt had gotten into the cuts, and with the blood partially dried, cleaning the injuries was a dreary business. Dorian sat at his side, allowed him to crush his hand, and whispered words of encouragement. When Jasper whimpered and started cursing, the healer suggested a pause. After a minute of terse silence, he nodded for her to continue. He knew she had to. _Better her than Yael or Solas_, he mused. _Volatile little shits, those mages. Not Dorian. Never Dorian. He’s perfect_. He started fading in and out of consciousness as his thoughts became more erratic. Dorian’s warm fingers against his cheeks were the only thing keeping him grounded. It felt like a hazy eternity until he was finally bandaged. He chugged down the potions he was being handed, and immediately drifted off into sleep.

After the last bear had been killed, Stia watched the camp jump into action. While the soldiers had seemed overwhelmed before, they were now working with a smooth and complementary efficiency. Small groups of soldiers worked to repair damage where it had been inflicted, solidify the camp and remove the bear carcasses. The wounded, Jasper and Maxwell among them, were being ushered into a tent at the far end of the camp, in the shadow of a big pine. She had noted, to her own surprise and immense curiosity, that the sight of the injured men caused her a familiar kind of distress. She thought she was not one to get attached quickly or easily. Her reaction astounded her, but positively so. She knew that emotional bonds were highly valued among humans, and she was starting to see the appeal in them; that she felt this way meant that she was fitting in. Her grief had waned since the demise of her unit, but the guilt remained her constant companion and maintained an iron grip on her thoughts every waking moment.

At a distance from the now busy crowd, Dale leaned heavily on his sword. The exhaustion of the previous day was etched into his face as the furrow of his brow and the tightness around his mouth. Stia approached him slowly, then laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. She had observed humans do it, and it could apparently convey many things. She hoped sympathy was one of them.

“He will recuperate,” she said, “his injuries were not substantial.”

Dale sighed. “I know, but he’s my little brother. I’ve been worrying about him all my life. I’m a professional at this point.” He mustered a weak smile, which Stia interpreted as success on her part. She considered leaving to tend to her own minor wounds, but Dale spoke up again.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” He pointed at Cullen and Cassandra, who stood apart, arguing. Stia arched an eyebrow at their very intense gesturing.

_“We cannot do that, seeker.”_

“Why are humans always doing this?” Stia mused.

“Doing what?”

“Infighting. A clear chain of command would solve this problem.”

Dale made a contemplative sound. “I wouldn’t say that there is a _problem_.” The distance was too great for her to make out phrases or even words, but the behaviour of the leadership did look ineffective to her. “They both have an opinion on how to proceed from here on out,” Dale went on, “and they both think it’s the right one.”

_“This is preposterous!” _

“Yes, there seems to be a matter of… dissent,” Stia agreed. They watched the pair bicker for another few minutes before Cassandra stormed off. The Qunari saw this as her cue to do the same, with less dramatic fervour, and bid Dale goodbye.

In the camp, she found Yael wandering between the tents with complete disregard for her surroundings. The mage was humming to herself, a melody that Stia had grown familiar with during their travels together. What it was about she could never fully grasp, but it seemed to calm her friend, and often had the same effect on her as well.

“You are picking out a place to sleep,” Stia remarked loudly. Yael shrugged without turning around, apparently deep in thought. “It’s not like we _got_ any sleep last night. I have _earned_ the right to complain about being tired all day long.” Before she could comment on that, Cassandra marched Maxwell out of the healer’s tent and into the middle of the camp. Everyone stopped what they were doing, as their Inquisitor, no matter how banged up he was, commanded a certain respect. She regarded him somewhat favorably, mostly because he had stepped up when no one else was willing. He looked shaken and a bit unstable, with his arm around the seeker’s shoulders, but his voice was firm when he said: “We are leaving the Hinterlands tomorrow. For the moment I’ve had it with bears and demons and – hills.” He motioned towards his inner circle, excluding the soldiers.

“We are going back to Skyhold.”

Even as the camp quietened down around her, Yael could not fall asleep. She blamed a multitude of things for that; the fact that Stia was making sounds that were as adorable as they were loud, or the distinct fear of bears she had developed since their encounter with three of those beasts that very morning. _Fur doesn't burn as easily as one assumes it would_.

The mage turned to her other side, now staring at the tent wall. Her body was heavy with exhaustion, her thoughts a jumbled mess. To slip into the fade for a few hours would be bliss. After a few minutes, she sighed. It didn't matter how tired she was, there was no rest to be found. It happened. Nights like that happened. She slowly, carefully writhed out of her bedroll, shrugged her jacket on, and stepped out into the cool night air. A lone figure stood by the campfire, and she frowned.

“Erus?” she said. The man turned around and waved, prompting her to move closer. Some of the guards posted around the camp perimeters looked over their shoulders, only to snap back into form when she caught them staring.

“Why are you alone? Who is on watch with you?”

“Cullen.”

_Of course_. “And where is our brave commander right now?”

“He thought he heard something and went to investigate.”

Her heart rate quickened at that, a familiar sense of dread washing over her. _That idiot_. She glanced around, as if he was about to appear out of thin air. When he didn't, she groaned and turned back to the giant Ander. “Did he forget what happened the last time someone swaggered blindly into the woods at night? No offense.”

“None taken.”

Rutherford emerged from the shadows across the fire, panting and clutching his sword arm. Blood ran between his fingers. Yael closed the distance between them in a few strides and steadied him when his legs gave out under him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes were wide open, yet he didn’t seem to notice her.

“To arms!”

The camp came to life within seconds. Erus shot past them into the darkness, bracing his war hammer. Stia burst from her tent as if she had been waiting for the call instead of snoring. Dorian and Solas moved eerily in sync, already shrouding the warriors in a protective shimmer. She knew that she should follow them, only she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The world around her had slowed down to match the pulse of her heart.

When the commander tried to free himself from her grip, she blinked, his presence almost forgotten. He groaned as her fingers instinctively tightened around his shoulders. “Now is not the time for a lecture –” With a less than gentle push, she sat him down on the bench next to the fire.

“I don't _need_ to tell you that you're an idiot. That wound needs attention, though.” He had tried to conceal it before. Blood was pouring from his exposed lower arm, where someone had cut broadly through muscle and tendon. Another hit like the first one and the arm might have come off entirely. She felt him aching to join their comrades, most of whom had disappeared to where Cullen had come from.

_Not like this you won’t_. “You can't swing a sword like that, Rutherford.” She grasped his wrist firmly, although his resistance was minimal. Simply cleaning and bandaging would not do it if he wanted to keep the arm, and she wagered he did.

“You know, your bedside manner is abysmal,” Rutherford said through gritted teeth.

“Shut up and hold still.”

“Wait – what are you doing?” His voice was almost shrill, and he unsuccessfully tried to yank his arm free, then winced in pain. For the first time since they had met, she looked at him with sincere pity.

“I'm going to heal you. With magic. Because I’m a mage. It’s kind of our thing.” She did not tell him that she _hadn’t_, in fact, done this before. Instead, she covered the wound with her hand as best as she could and took a deep breath. Rutherford looked away. “This is going to hurt.”

People expected a lot from healing magic and were mostly disappointed. There was no glow, no light, and no warmth. They thought it was a glorified potion, something to accelerate natural processes. In truth, it was much more complicated than that. There was pain, and much of it to go around, an inner tension as if her chest was going to burst right open; a shadow of his agony as her own arm twitched involuntarily. Tissue reconnected and regenerated under her touch, tears in flesh and skin mended invisibly, until the gash had disappeared. The air rushed back into her lungs when she lifted her hand and let go of the commander. She felt dizzy.

“Did it work?”

“Should be good as new.”

Rutherford testily flexed the muscles in his right arm and seemed pleasantly surprised when there was no immediate anguish. Dried blood stuck to his skin, but nothing else indicated that there had ever been a wound. Yael couldn’t contain the surprised little sigh when she saw that it had worked.

“It didn't hurt at all.”

“I wasn’t talking to you when I said that.”

He furrowed his brows. The flickering firelight cast lively shadows on his otherwise pale face, and suddenly, she couldn’t bring herself to taunt with how much of a favour she had done him. Realization seemed to dawn on him anyways.

The shouting and the clamour of weapons was more distinct now. She turned away, staff in hand. Rutherford made a grab for her arm, but she was already sprinting off towards the bloodshed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bas sarebaas: Qunari term for a non-Qunari mage; literally “foreign dangerous thing”
> 
> Arvaraad: Qunari term for those who guard Qunari mages, literally “one who holds back evil” (similar to templars)
> 
> Karataam: Qunari term for an infantry battalion
> 
> Basra: Rude term for non-Qunari people
> 
> Asaarash: A breed of horse raised and used by Qunari, most commonly the antaam


End file.
